i  92; 


10* 


SOME  LIVING  MASTERS 
OF  THE  PULPIT 


JOSEPH  FORT  NEWTON,  Litt.D.,  D.D. 


I 


SOME  LIVING  MASTERS 
OF  THE  PULPIT 

Studies  in  Religious  Personality 


JOSEPH  FORT  NEWTON 

LITT.D.,  D.D. 


Author  of  " The  Sword  of  the  Spirit  ”  (( Preaching 

m  London  ”  etc. 


NEW 


YORK 


GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1925, 

BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


SOME  LIVING  MASTERS  OF  THE  PULPIT.  I 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


CHARLES  CLAYTON  MORRISON 


LEADER  AND  COMRADE 

IN  THE  SERVICE  OF  A  GREATER  CHRISTIANITY 

WITH  ADMIRATION,  GRATITUDE  AND 
PERSONAL  AFFECTION 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


V 


https://archive.org/details/somelivingmasterOOnewt 


INVOCATION 


With  curious  regularity  every  age  has  be¬ 
wailed  the  passing  of  the  pulpit ;  but  the  great 
office  abides — persistent,  permanent,  precious 
— surviving  new  theories  of  knowledge  and  old 
conditions  of  life,  helped,  not  hurt,  by  the  sky¬ 
line  being  set  back.  When  Mahaffy  wrote 
“The  Decay  of  Modern  Preaching”  in  1882, 
Parker,  Liddon,  Spurgeon,  Maclaren,  Beecher, 
Brooks,  Broadus  and  Simpson  were  in  the  full 
splendour  of  their  powers!  It  must  be  that 
men  do  not  see  what  is  passing  before  their 
eyes,  because  they  are  so  busy  weaving  a  robe 
of  romance  for  the  past  The  chorus  of  com¬ 
plaint  has  been  unusually  loud  in  our  time,  as 
witness  these  words  which  suggested  the 
following  sketches: 

“If  the  great  sermons  which  contain  the 
philosophy  of  Bishop  Butler  were  preached 
today,  would  they  fill  the  smallest  church  in 
London?  For  the  present,  at  least,  the  noble 
art  of  the  pulpit  must  be  considered  as  lost. 

vii 


viii  Invocation 

There  exists  for  it  neither  favorable  condi¬ 
tions,  nor  the  indispensable  audience,  nor 
apparently  even  the  artists  themselves.  It 
awaits,  like  so  many  other  of  the  arts — like 
great  painting,  like  great  poetry — the  return 
of  the  mind  of  Europe  to  an  assured  and  all- 
pervading  religious  faith.” 

Thus  even  the  London  Times  joins  in  the 
litany  of  lament  that  the  pulpit  of  today  is  in 
eclipse,  forgetting  that  if  preaching  depended 
on  a  willing  response  to  prophetic  voices  it 
would  have  ceased  long  since.  Of  course  the 
sermons  of  Bishop  Butler  would  not  fill  even 
a  small  London  church  today— the  times  have 
changed,  the  taste  is  different — and  one  recalls 
how  in  his  own  day  the  Bishop  sat  in  his  castle 
brooding  over  the  decay  of  religion,  while  the 
miners,  touched  by  the  wondrous  evangelism 
of  Wesley,  were  singing  hymns  of  praise  al¬ 
most  under  his  window.  Surely  we  have  not 
yet  realised  the  full  import  of  those  words  of 
Jesus  which  echo  like  a  refrain  through  the 
•  Gospels,  “He  that  hath  ears  to  hear,  let  him 
hear.” 

Hence  a  series  of  studies  of  some  living 
masters  of  the  pulpit — impressionistic  and  im- 


Invocation 


ix 


perfect  enough,  and  selecting  only  a  few  out  of 
many  shining  examples — intended  to  show  that 
the  divine  art  of  preaching  is  not  lost,  and  in 
the  hope  that  elect  young  men  may  be  won  to 
its  high  service.  Indeed,  my  task  has  been 
made  difficult  not  by  the  barrenness  of  the 
modern  pulpit,  but  by  the  richness,  variety  and 
comprehensiveness  of  its  Christian  witness  in 
a  tangled  time.  Grateful  to  God  for  many 
others  of  equal  genius  and  charm,  if  I  have 
written  of  preachers  of  whom  I  have  vivid 
and  moving  memories,  it  is  because  such  ex¬ 
periences  enable  one  to  write  with  more  insight 
and  understanding — and,  perhaps,  to  repro¬ 
duce  somewhat  of  the  atmosphere  and  impress 
of  personality. 

Anybody  can  find  fault,  but  some  of  us  have 
learned  to  give  thanks  for  what  men  can  do, 
rejoicing  in  their  gifts  without  dwelling  on 
their  limitations.  Goethe  has  a  golden  sentence 
in  which  he  tells  how,  as  he  grew  older,  the 
beautiful  feeling  entered  his  mind  that  only 
mankind  together  is  the  true  man,  and  that 
the  individual  can  only  be  happy  when  he  has 
the  courage  to  feel  himself  in  the  whole.  It  is 
so  in  our  Christian  ministry,  if  we  have  the 


X 


Invocation 


grace  to  know  our  brethren,  and  especially 
those  who  can  do  what  we  cannot  do,  making 
their  work  our  own  by  appreciation.  No  two 
men  could  be  more  unlike  than  Dean  Inge  and 
Bishop  Quayle — no  two  farther  apart  in  point 
of  view  than  Dr.  Truett  and  Dr.  Crothers — 
but  all  of  them  are  our  brethren,  and  together 
they  make  a  goodly,  gracious  company  in  whose 
many  keys  and  cadences  the  Everlasting  Gospel 
is  made  eloquent. 

Such  a  study  suggests  many  reflections,  one 
of  which  is  that  if  we  are  to  have  Christian 
Unity  it  must  be  by  virtue  of  the  insight  which 
divines  one  Spirit,  one  purpose,  one  passion 
underlying  differing  gifts  and  points  of  view.. 
Here  are  trinitarians,  Unitarians,  radicals, 
conservatives,  liberals,  evangelicals — scholars, 
orators,  pastors,  teachers,  evangelists,  a  noble 
layman  and  a  great  woman — yet  the  tie  that 
binds  them  into  a  radiant  fellowship  is  a  devout 
life  devoted  to  the  service  of  a  common  Master 
whose  they  are,  and  whose  Gospel  they  preach 
each  with  his  own  accent  and  emphasis.  At  last, 
or  soon  or  late,  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus,  res¬ 
cued  from  the  sectarianism  which  has  obscured 
it,  will  rise  and  shine  by  its  own  splendour 


Invocation 


xi 


— profounder  than  all  philosophies,  yet  as 
simple  as  the  prayer  of  a  child — revealing  its 
reality  as  a  Life  not  a  system,  a  Person  not  a 
dogma,  and  finding  its  fulfilment  in  a  Beloved 
Community. 

Some  one  ought  to  follow  these  sketches 
with  a  series  of  studies  of  the  New  Preaching 
now  developing,  at  once  so  direct  in  method 
and  so  full  of  promise,  and  which  seeks  to 
interpret  the  Gospel  in  its  relation  to  the  new 
issues,  new  outlooks,  and  new  enterprises 
which  preoccupy  the  thought  of  men  in  our 
time.  Since  the  Great  War  a  new  note  has 
been  heard  in  our  Christian  message,  a  new 
emphasis  and  implication — differing  from  the 
old  as  Salvation  differs  from  Salvage — and 
there  is  a  gallant  company  of  young  men  in 
all  communions  to  whom  it  is  the  Word  of  God 
for  our  age.  It  is  for  us  to  preach  “the  Gospel 
of  the  Kingdom”  with  veracity  of  mind  and 
humility  of  heart,  speaking  the  truth  in  the 
spirit  of  Jesus,  remembering  the  exhortation 
of  St.  Vincent: 

“O  priest,  O  expositor,  O  doctor,  if  the 
Divine  gift  hath  made  thee  fit  by  genius,  train¬ 
ing  and  learning,  be  thou  Bazaleel  of  the 


Xll 


Invocation 


spiritual  tabernacle ;  engrave  the  precious  gems 
of  Divine  doctrine ;  faithfully  fit  them  to¬ 
gether;  adorn  them  wisely;  add  splendor, 
grace,  loveliness.  Let  that  which  was  formerly 
believed  darkly,  be  understood  clearly  by  thy 
exposition.  Let  posterity  by  thy  aid  rejoice  in 
truths  understood,  which  antiquity  venerated 
without  understanding  them.  Yet  teach  still 
the  same  things  which  thou  didst  learn,  so  that 
although  thou  speakest  in  a  new  fashion,  thou 
speakest  not  new  things.” 

J.  F.  N. 

Church  of  the  Divine  Paternity . 

New  Y  ork  City . 


CONTENTS 


I: 

George  A.  Gordon 

PAGE 

17 

II: 

John  A.  Hutton  . 

36 

III: 

Dean  Inge,  of  St.  Paul’s  . 

53 

IV: 

* 

Charles  E.  Jefferson  . 

69 

V: 

W.  E.  Orchard  . 

88 

VI: 

Charles  D.  Williams  . 

105 

VII: 

A.  Maude  Royden 

122 

VIII: 

Samuel  McChord  Crothers 

136 

IX: 

T.  Reaveley  Glover  . 

152 

X: 

S.  Parkes  Cadman 

168 

XI: 

Reginald  J.  Campbell  . 

185 

XII: 

William  A.  Quayle  . 

200 

XIII : 

George  W.  Truett  . 

215 

XIV: 

Edward  L.  Powell 

231 

XV: 

Frank  W.  Gunsaulus:  In 

Mem 

oriam 

245 

I 


SOME  LIVING  MASTERS 
OF  THE  PULPIT 


/ 


SOME  LIVING  MASTERS 
OF  THE  PULPIT 


I:  George  A.  Gordon 

As  one  of  a  host  of  students  who  used  to 
throng  the  galleries  of  the  Old  South  Church — 
just  as  they  do  today — I  confess  that  it  is  not 
easy  for  me  to  write  about  Dr.  Gordon  calmly. 
Under  God  I  owe  more  to  that  gracious  and 
wise  preacher  than  to  any  living  man,  and  but 
for  his  influence  upon  me — alike  by  the  nobility 
of  his  character,  the  integrity  of  his  intellect, 
and  the  richness  of  his  insight — at  a  time  when 
nothing  was  certain  but  uncertainty,  I  should 
not  be  in  the  pulpit  today.  God  be  thanked  for 
the  leadership  of  authentic  teachers  of  faith 
in  the  critical,  formative  years  of  youth — next 
to  good  mothers  they  are  the  best  gifts  of  God ! 
It  was  a  joy,  as  well  as  an  honour,  to  stand  in 

r 

the  pulpit  of  Old  South  Church  and  bear  such 

testimony,  both  for  myself  and  for  a  vast  com- 

17 


18  Some  Living  Masters  of,  the  Pulpit 

pany  of  young  men  whom  his  ministry  has 
blessed,  on  the  evening  before  I  set  sail  to  take 
up  my  labours  at  the  City  Temple. 

Others  have  written  of  Dr.  Gordon  as  a 
theologian,  ranking  him  in  the  dynasty  of  Ed¬ 
wards  and  Bushnell,  as  the  third  truly  great 
constructive  theologian  that  America  has 
known.1  With  this  estimate  I  am  in  full  agree¬ 
ment,  and  with  the  further  verdict  that  in  the 
scope  and  quality  of  his  labour  as  a  Christian 
thinker,  no  less  than  in  the  originality  and  fruit¬ 
fulness  of  his  total  accomplishment — bringing 
to  the  service  of  faith  not  only  exact  thinking 
and  ample  learning,  but  a  high  and  tender 
humanity,  an  ennobling  imagination,  and  the 
transfiguring  insight  of  a  poet — he  out-tops  his 
peers  and  stands  alone.  The  House  of  Doc¬ 
trine,  needed  for  the  comfort  and  habitation  of 
the  intellect,  and  as  a  shelter  for  the  holy  things 
of  faith,  is  a  temple  ever  “building  and  built 
upon.”  As  between  the  easy-going  agnosticism. 

1  Progressive  Religious  Thought  in  America,  by  J.  W. 
Buckham,  of  the  Pacific  School  of  Religion,  contains  a  chapter 
entitled,  “George  A.  Gordon:  The  New  Theology  Universal¬ 
ized, ” — though  by  New  Theology  he  does  not  mean  the  move¬ 
ment  associated  with  the  City  Temple.  For  an  early  con¬ 
servative  critique,  see  “Dr.  G.  A.  Gordon’s  Reconstruction  of 
Christian  Theology,”  by  Dr.  A.  H.  Plumb,  Bibliotheca  Sacra, 
April,  1896.  The  article  makes  rather  interesting  reading  to¬ 
day. 


George  A.  Gordon  19 

so  widespread  in  the  modern  world— often 
only  a  labour-saving  device  to  escape  the  toil 
of  high  thinking — and  the  artificial  “block 
universe”  of  the  old  dogmatic  theology,  Dr., 
Gordon  has  been  a  wise  master-builder  in  an 
era  of  theological  break-up,  building  once  more 
a  House  of  Faith  in  the  midst  of  the  years. 

It  has  been  the  fashion  of  late  years  to  make 
light  of  theology— forgetting  that  it  is  not 
theology  that  is  wrong,  but  wrong  theology 
that  needs  to  be  reinterpreted — and  to  all  such 
glib  and  superficial  judgments  the  ministry  of 
Dr.  Gordon  has  been  a  standing  rebuke.  Like 
Plato,  “the  father  of  theology,”  he  holds  that 
“an  unexamined  life  is  unlivable,”  and  that 
religion  must  be  not  simply  a  life  of  the  spirit — 
much  less  a  series  of  chance  thoughts  and 
vagrant  insights — but  an  order  of  ideas,  con¬ 
trolling  the  issues  of  the  heart  through  the 
authority  of  its  teaching  over  the  mind.  Else 
it  will  be  an  empty  emotion  or  a  mere  super¬ 
stition,  Hence  his  task  and  his  toil,  pursued 
with  single-hearted  devotion,  making  his 
labour  a  fulfilment  of  his  own  description  of 
the  older  New  England  divines,  “the  teacher 
of  the  people,  the  former  of  their  minds  in 


20  Some  Living  Masters  of,  the  Pulpit 

Christian  belief,  the  thinker  who  covered  their 
existence  with  the  power  of  a  consistent 
thought  of  the  universe.”  At  once  critical 
and  creative,  his  study  of  the  old  New  England 
theology  is  a  piece  of  analytic  and  synthetic 
criticism  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  match 
in  the  entire  literature  of  theology,  showing 
how  life  acts  upon  abstractions  as  fresh  air 
acts  upon  mummies — how  they  crumble  to  dust 
and  blow  away.  But  in  its  place  he  has  helped 
to  erect  upon  surer  foundations  a  more  spacious 
Home  of  the  Soul,  and  we  behold  “the  sweet 
heavens  built  in  unity  and  dominion  and  power, 
and  under  them  the  obedient,  awestruck,  and 
yet  hopeful  world  of  men.”  Nor  must  we  for¬ 
get  that  Dr.  Gordon,  like  the  apostolic  succes¬ 
sion  of  great  thinkers  in  which  he  stands,  has 
toiled  not  as  a  technical  theologian,  but  as  a 
preacher  in  the  active  service  of  the  church, 
living  not  in  the  half  lights  of  a  few  arid  and 
well-domesticated  abstractions,  but  in  the 
vision  of  truth  as  it  stands  in  the  service  of  our 
piteous,  passionate,  and  pathetic  human  life. 

No  one  questions  that  Dr.  Gordon  is  a  great 
preacher,  but  we  learn  very  little  from  that 
fact,  because  great  preachers  are  of  many 


21 


George  A.  Gordon 

kinds ;  chiefly  of  two  kinds,  as  he  himself  once 
pointed  out  in  an  exquisite  tribute  to  Dr. 
Hunger.  There  is  the  type  represented  in 
America  by  Beecher  and  Brooks,  and  in  Eng¬ 
land  by  Parker  and  Spurgeon — “the  fiery 
orator,  the  master  of  assemblies,  the  cyclonic 
commander  of  the  assent  and  homage  of  the 
multitude.”  Such  a  preacher  is  properly  placed 
in  a  great  centre  of  population,  where  he  may 
make  his  audience  by  a  process  of  gradual 
selection  from  among  the  mass  of  those  to 
whom  his  individual  quality  appears;  but  it  is 
delusion  fatal  to  the  ministry  to  imagine  that 
there  is  no  other  type  of  great  preacher.  There 
is  the  type  represented  by  Bushnell  and 
Munger,  by  Martineau  and  Tipple — who 
preached  such  sermons  as  Emerson  might  have 
preached  had  he  remained  in  the  pulpit,  and 
whom  Ruskin  called  “the  greatest  master  of 
pulpit  prose.”  This  preacher  is  no  striking 
orator.  He  can  never  be  popular  except  with 
a  few  select  minds.  He  prevails  mightily,  but 
it  is  by  the  depth  and  vitality  of  his  ideas,  by 
the  intensity  and  clarity  of  his  vision  of  God, 
and  by  the  form  and  beauty  which  he  presses 
into  the  service  of  his  vocation.  He  is  the 


22  Some  Living  Masters  of,  the  Pulpit 

scholar,  the  thinker,  the  seer,  and  his  power 
lies  wholly  in  his  message  and  in  his  high  con¬ 
cern  to  utter  it.  He  influences  men  deeply, 
especially  young  men  who  are  caught  up  into 
the  radiance  of  his  vision,  and  he  remains  a 
fertilising  power  long  after  he  passes  away. 
No  one  will  deny  that  Bushnell  is  more  than  a 
peer  of  Beecher  or  Parker ;  at  least  our  admira¬ 
tion  for  the  orator  must  not  blind  us  to  the 
right  of  Munger  and  Martineau  to  an  equal 
honour  in  the  ministry. 

More  nearly  than  any  man  in  our  generation 
— more  nearly  than  any  preacher  I  can  recall — 
Dr.  Gordon  has  united  these  two  types  of 
preaching;  the  thinker  and  the  orator,  the 
scholar  and  the  artist ;  the  prophet  and  the  man 
of  letters;  the  theologian  whose  sermons  are 
lyrics  and  whose  theology  is  an  epic.  If  he  is 
not  widely  known  as  an  orator,  it  is  because 
his  devotion  to  his  high  task  has  kept  him  too 
much  from  the  great  assemblies  of  the  church ; 
and  he  has  not  been  at  the  beck  and  call  of 
patriotic,  social,  and  academic  fraternities, 
with  the  result  that  there  is  no  body  of  secular 
oratory  by  him,  as  there  was  in  the  case  of 
Beecher.  But  at  his  best,  in  his  great  hours  of 


George  A.  Gordon  23 

vision  and  conquest — especially  when  he  drops 
manuscript  and  lets  himself  go — Dr.  Gordon 
is  an  orator  of  incomparable  power,  of  unique 
and  compelling  charm,  who  can  make  smiles 
and  tears  alternate  as  swiftly  as  Beecher  did; 
“whose  touch  is  light  enough  for  the  after- 
dinner  speech,  with  its  potpourri  of  wit  and 
story,  yet  commanding  and  weighty  enough  on 
occasion  to  shape  the  policies  of  church  and 
state.”  Those  who  have  not  heard  him  when 
he  is  deeply  stirred,  and  dealing  with  a  great 
theme  before  an  expectant  throng,  do  not  know 
him  at  his  highest  and  best.  The  sweep  and 
grasp  and  grandeur  of  his  thought,  aglow  with 
virility,  sympathy,  and  abounding  hope,  and 
shot  through  with  the  colour,  fire  and  beauty 
of  a  poet,  is  a  thing  of  splendour.  Master  of  a 
picturesque,  variegated  and  brilliant  homiletic, 
his  eloquence  blooms  into  literature,  and  if 
poetry  is  of  his  essence,  “the  prophet-warrior 
in  him  exorcises  the  table-serving  priest.” 

Surely  no  one  can  ever  forget  a  service  in 
Old  South  Church,  where  all  classes  of  people 
mingle  in  an  air  of  democratic  fellowship. 
There  the  Back  Bay  matron  worships  with  the 
simply-dressed  school  teacher,  and  the  railroad 


24  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

president  and  the  brakeman  on  his  line  are 
equally  at  home.  Boston  is  a  hive  of  student 
life,  proof  of  which  is  seen  in  the  rows  of 
eager,  intelligent  faces  in  the  galleries.  The 
preacher  arrests  attention  by  his  stalwart 
frame,  his  massive  head,  his  shaggy  brows,  his 
piercing  eyes,  and  by  the  simple  dignity  of  his 
manner.  Tall,  broad-shouldered,  finely  formed, 
one  can  well  believe  that  he  did  good  work  in 
the  iron-foundry  when  he  came,  “ a  lad  of 
pairts,”  from  Aberdeenshire  to  make  his  future 
in  America.  The  face  and  figure  are  worthy 
of  the  brush  of  a  great  painter  of  men.  Rugged 
yet  gentle,  it  is  a  face  that  one  can  study  for 
a  long  time,  reading  in  it  the  story  of  his 
struggle  upward,  his  fearless  facing  of  the 
issues  of  thought,  and  his  fight  for  a  larger 
faith;  and  there  are  lines  where  smiles  fall 
asleep  when  they  are  weary.  For  all  his  learn¬ 
ing,  he  is  a  man  of  the  people,  and  as  he  prays 
one  feels  that  he  not  only  knows  people,  but 
loves  them.  The  prayer  is  neither  hortatory 
nor  declamatory,  but  brooding,  tender  and  far- 
ranging  in  its  sympathy,  mindful  alike  of  the 
joys  and  sorrows  of  home  and  of  the  burdens 
of  the  man  of  state.  He  talks  with  a  God 


George  A.  Gordon  25 

whose  love  is  equal  to  his  power,  and  there  are 
phrases  that  haunt  the  heart  for  years,  as  when 
he  seeks  “the  consolation  of  moral  self-respect/’ 
or  death  is  described  as  “the  last,  ineffable, 
homeward  sigh  of  the  soul.” 

When  the  sermon  begins  the  mood  of  the 
preacher  alters — disciplined  thought  takes  the 
place  of  worshipful  passivity,  and  the  truth  of 
the  day  is  seen  against  a  long  background  of 
philosophy  and  a  far  horizon  of  faith.  His 
gestures  are  vigorous  rather  than  graceful,  as 
befits  the  forthright  sinewiness  of  his  thought, 
and  if  certain  mannerisms  are  disconcerting 
at  first,  they  are  atoned  for  by  a  Scotch  burr 
which  still  clings  to  his  accent.  The  symmetry 
of  the  sermon  is  a  feat  of  homiletic  genius,  and 
as  its  great  power  gathers  and  grows  one  feels 
that  the  secret  of  the  preacher  is  that  he  has 
what  Wordsworth  called  “the  first  great  gift, 
the  vital  soul.”  Positive  without  being  dog¬ 
matic,  he  has  no  “art  of  subtle  phrases  that 
touch  the  edge  of  assertion  and  yet  stops  short 
of  it.”  What  loftiness  and  range  of  thought, 
expounding  the  sublimity  and  tenderness  of 
Christian  faith;  what  gorgeous  colouring  of 
imagination,  rich  and  vivid  in  its  tints;  what 


26  Some  Living  Masters  of.  the  Pulpit 

analyses  of  character,  done  with  the  stroke 
of  the  etcher ;  what  wealth  of  allusion  to  litera¬ 
ture,  science,  philosophy,  the  poets  with  whom 
he  lives  and  the  eager,  troubled,  aspiring  life  of 
man.  Here  is  a  man  whose  interest  ranges 
from  Aristotle  to  the  records  of  champion 
athletes,  equally  at  home  in  St.  Augustine  and 
Alice  in  Wonderland to  whom  nothing  human 
is  alien  or  without  meaning.  There  are  scenes 
from  nature  in  many  moods,  gusts  of  elemental 
feeling,  and  epithets  Carlylean  in  their  wither¬ 
ing  blast.  Sunlight  alternates  with  shadow, 
and  the  swift,  terse  summing  up  of  an  indi¬ 
vidual  character  or  an  historical  epoch — sur¬ 
passing  Fairbairn  in  vividness — is  followed  by 
lines  from  Robert  Burns  so  apt  that  they  seem 
to  have  been  written  for  the  day.  But  he  knows 
just  how  far  he  can  lead  us  at  the  moment — 
how  much  strain  feeling  and  attention  can 
stand  without  fatigue — and  before  we  are 
aware  of  it  some  flash  of  bright  humour,  never 
far  away,  has  relieved  the  tension,  before  he 
takes  us  with  him  to  the  triumphant  conclusion. 
Often  we  have  a  glimpse  of  his  early  days  and 
then  one  hears  a  note  of  sweet-toned,  melting 
pathos,  as  of  one  who  knows  the  beauty  and 


George  A.  Gordon  27 

sorrow  of  life  and  the  sadness  of  its  long 
farewells : 

I  remember  well  the  last  walk  that  I  took  in 
my  native  land  before  I  sailed  for  the  Western 
world  more  than  forty  years  ago.  It  was  on 
one  of  the  longest  and  brightest  days  in  June. 
I  had  said  good-bye  to  dear  friends  and  my 
solitary  path  for  ten  miles  lay  through  peaceful 
and  fruitful  farms  and  over  the  ridge  of  a 
mountain  whose  shapely  summit  had  looked 
down  upon  the  coming  and  going  of  im¬ 
memorial  generations  of  men.  Then  followed 
a  long  stretch  of  moor,  barren,  dismal,  whose 
heather  would  in  three  months  bloom  again  and 
fade  like  the  hopes  in  the  hearts  of  poor  human 
beings.  As  I  struck  the  moor,  the  sun  was 
setting.  The  lonely  path  lay  in  the  great  trans¬ 
figuring  radiance.  It  became  a  path  of  beauty 
and  infinite  tender  suggestion ;  a  heavenly 
meaning  seemed  to  beat  in  the  boundless  glow ; 
a  sense  of  companionship,  not  understood  then, 
settled  in  the  heart,  delight  took  the  place  of 
loneliness,  and  the  journey  that  thus  lay  in  the 
path  of  the  setting  sun  I  could  not  wish  to  end. 

More  than  forty  years  have  come  and  gone 
since  then.  Farewells  have  been  spoken  to 
many  friends  for  the  last  time  on  earth.  The 
journey  has  been  through  much  of  the  beauty 
of  the  world,  and  still  the  way  has  been  over 
hill  and  moor,  crag  and  torrent.  The  pil¬ 
grimage  has  often  seemed  a  type  of  the  lonely 


28  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

and  sorrowful  migration  of  men  from  the 
shadows  of  morning  to  the  gloom  of  the  eve¬ 
ning.  The  happiest  experiences  have  not 
deafened  me  to  the  still  sad  music  of  humanity ; 
the  evanescence  of  all  things  earthly  has  been 
a  constant  refrain  in  my  spirit.  Despair  and 
utter  heart-break  would  long  ago  have  undone 
my  days  if  nothing  heavenly  had  been  found 
to  glorify  and  comfort  and  protect  the  precious 
burden  of  human  love. 

“The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land” 
enfolds  the  way  of  every  pilgrim.  He  is  travel¬ 
ling  in  the  glow  that  falls  upon  time  from  the 
Eternal ;  his  path  is  in  the  transfiguring 
presence  of  the  Infinite  Love.  .  . 

Who  would  stop,  or  fear  to  advance, 
Though  home  or  shelter  he  had  none, 
With  such  a  sky  to  lead  him  on  ?  2 

The  first  volume  of  sermons  by  Dr.  Gordon — 
as  distinguished  from  his  essays  and  lectures 
— was  published  in  1906,  and  its  appearance 
was  both  a  religious  and  a  literary  event.  It  is 
entitled  Through  Man  to  God ,  and  deals  not 
with  the  passing  moods  and  modes  of  thought, 
but  with  the  fundamental  issues  of  faith.  What 
is  final?  What  is  sovereign?  Who  is  God? 
How  shall  we  appear  before  God?  Is  the 


3  Revelation  and  the  Ideal. 


George  A.  Gordon  29 

character  of  the  Eternal  accessible  to  Man? 
And  if  so ,  how?  Along  what  path  shall  we 
approach  that  character?  No  serious-minded 
man  can  read  these  discourses  without  being 
enlarged  and  enriched  by  them,  and  to  have 
listened  to  them  must  have  been  one  of  the 
great  inspirations  of  a  life-time.  In  stateliness 
of  thought,  in  scope  and  clarity  of  insight,  in 
nobility  of  sentiment,  in  strength  and  beauty 
of  diction,  they  match  the  greatest  sermons  in 
Christian  history.  The  technique  of  the 
preacher  is  forgotten  in  the  majesty  of  his 
thought,  all  is  so  spontaneous,  so  natural,  so 
free.  The  short  sentence  prevails,  but  the 
poetic  imagery  of  the  style  is  in  the  fibre,  not 
in  the  dress  of  the  thought.  It  is  a  vision  of 
God  through  humanity  at  its  highest,  and  if  it 
is  humanity  that  interprets  God,  only  God  can 
adequately  interpret  humanity.  The  universe 
is  seen  in  its  vastness  as  unveiled  by  science, 
but  despite  its  seeming  moral  contradictions,  it 
is  the  native  country  of  the  human  spirit,  for 
God  is  in  it  and  love  is  its  final  law.  The 
preacher  lives  with  great  men,  great  epochs, 
great  events ;  the  old  philosophers  are  his 
fellows,  the  prophets  and  the  classic  poets,  and 


30  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

one  learns  that  it  is  the  great  truths  that  are  the 
home-speaking  truths.  What  is  the  great  mean¬ 
ing  of  it  all?  is  the  ever-recurring  thought 
refrain  of  a  volume  the  cumulative  impression 
of  which  is  simply  overwhelming.  The  last 
sermon,  “God  All  in  All,”  is  a  theodicy  exalt¬ 
ing,  subduing,  satisfying — a  sermon  more 
majestic,  more  fundamentally  true  and  beauti¬ 
ful  it  is  difficult  to  imagine.3 

With  the  theology  of  Dr.  Gordon  I  have  not 
to  do,  except  to  say  this  his  chief  service  has 

3  Other  volumes  appeared  later,  notably  Revelation  and  the 
Ideal  in  1913;  the  fruit  of  ten  years  of  study  and  reflection 
with  the  intent  of  writing  a  book  on  the  philosophy  of  Reve¬ 
lation.  Alas,  the  book  had  to  be  abandoned,  and  instead  of  a 
treatise  we  have  a  series  of  visions,  the  central  insight  of 
which  is  that  “Moral  Idealism  and  Revelation  are  but  the 
concave  and  the  convex  of  the  same  figure,” — the  Ideal  being 
the  East  where,  in  each  new  age,  the  Eternal  light  breaks  in 
upon  our  human  world.  The  book  asks  two  of  the  pro- 
foundest  questions  in  the  entire  sphere  of  religious  interest : 
Does  the  Eternal  God  speak  to  man?  If  so,  how?  What 
the  unwritten  treatise  might  have  been  we  can  only  imagine ; 
but  this  scroll  of  vision  is  one  of  the  golden  books  to  those 
who  believe  that  “the  ideal  is  the  shadow  of  God  in  the  mind 
of  man;”  its  depth  of  insight  only  equalled  by  the  richness 
and  variety  of  its  exposition. 

Still  another  volume  appeared  in  1916,  entitled  Aspects  of 
the  Infinite  Mystery — a  rather  forbidding  title  for  the  most 
intimate  and  revealing  of  his  books — perhaps  as  much  of  a 
spiritual  biography  of  the  preacher  as  we  are  ever  likely  to 
get.  It  was  first  a  series  of  mid-week  talks,  then  a  series 
of  sermons  at  the  request  of  the  Church,  which  by  resolution 
asked  that  they  be  published.  Here  is  the  ripe,  mellow  thought 
of  a  man  who  has  reached  the  time  of  life  when  he  has 
“something  on  hand  infinitely  more  serious  than  the  attempt 
to  get  votes  from  either  the  liberal  or  conservative  camp.” 
He  writes  with  his  eyes  on  reality,  and  as  life  draws  toward 


George  A.  Gordon  31 

been  the  transformation  of  our  thought  of  God 
from  the  partialism  of  a  sovereign  to  the  uni¬ 
versal  saving  grace  of  a  Father;  and  he  is  one 
of  the  few  men  who  has  had  the  courage  to 
follow  that  vision  through  to  its  inevitable  con¬ 
clusion.  My  purpose  here  is  not  with  his 
theology,  but  with  the  art  and  genius  with 
which  he  has  preached  a  faith  not  won  without 
struggle— as  we  learn  from  a  bit  of  revealing 
autobiography  in  the  second  of  his  lectures  on 
the  Ultimate  Conceptions  of  Faith.  It  is 
thought  by  some  that  Dr.  Gordon  preaches 
philosophy  more  than  theology,  and  theology 
more  than  religion,  but  that  is  to  err;  though 
his  published  works  might  leave  such  an  im¬ 
pression.  But  in  the  ordinary  course  of  hi§ 

evening  he  finds  that  "something  has  been  found  that  is  im¬ 
perishable, a  sobered,  purified,  residual  faith,  the  issue  of 
the  discipline  of  time  upon  a  free  mind;  a  faith  which  many 
waters  cannot  quench. 

In  the  Book  of  Memory  he  finds  a  symbol  of  his  thought, 
in  the  three  ways  of  crossing  a  stream  in  his  boyhood  home 
in  Scotland.  The  bridge,  the  ferry,  and  the  stepping-stones 
now  represent  to  him  dogmatic  belief,  ecclesiasticism,  and 
insight.  Any  one  can  cross  the  river  of  the  mystery  of  life 
on  the  bridge  of  a  creed.  All  who  are  satisfied  with  a  boat 
can  find  an  ideal  method  in  sitting  still  and  not  upsetting  the 
Catholic  tradition;  but  those  who  put  their  souls  to  a  test 
must  pick  their  way  over  with  the  spirit  of  adventure.  In 
this  familiar,  homely  fashion  he  deqjs  with  the  vital  issues 
of  faith  and  life,  with  now  a  flash  of  humour,  now  a  touch  of 
pathos,  and  always  a  sense  of  wonder  and  mystery  not  in¬ 
consistent  with  a  confident  and  happy  outlook. 


32  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

ministry  it  is  not  so.  Life  is  above  philosophy, 
and  he  touches  its  practical  problems  with  the 
same  insight  and  power  with  which  he  ex¬ 
pounds  the  faith  by  which  it  is  lighted  and  led, 
preaching  righteousness  so  full  of  ideal  splen¬ 
dour  as  to  overawe  and  win  the  heart,  and  so 
instinct  with  love  as  to  stir  the  sluggish  will. 
On  public  questions  he  can  withhold  his 
thunder-bolts,  but  if  he  speaks  the  spade  is 
called  a  spade,  as  Plutarch  said  of  one  of  his 
characters.  He  follows  no  fads,  and  is  duped 
by  no  delusions,  nor  does  he  have  any  patience 
with  clap-trap : 

The  cry  for  a  revival  of  religion  is  natural ; 
but  the  religion  to  be  revived  is  not  the  right 
kind.  .  .  .  For  this  end  professional  revival¬ 
ism  with  its  organisations,  its  staff  of  reporters 
who  make  the  figures  suit  the  hopes  of  good 
men,  the  system  of  advertisements,  the  ex¬ 
clusion  or  suppression  of  all  sound  critical 
comment,  the  appeals  to  emotion  and  the  use  of 
means  that  have  no  visible  connection  with 
grace,  is  utterly  inadequate.  The  world  awaits 
the  vision,  the  passion,  the  simplicity,  and  the 
stern  truthfulness  of  the  Hebrew  prophet;  it 
awaits  the  imperial  breadth  and  moral  energy 
of  the  Christian  Apostle  of  the  nations.  .  .  . 
I  have  spoken  of  the  few  elect  souls,  men  and 


George  A.  Gordon  33 

women,  in  our  churches  who  are  worthy  to 
stand  among  the  best  of  the  Christian  ages. 
What  about  the  mass  of  church  people?  Are 
they  not  as  fond  of  the  polluted  book,  the  play 
with  its  appeal  to  sensual  passion,  as  their 
pagan  neighbors?  .  .  .  Do  they  not  know 
every  avenue  of  exclusiveness  and  pride,  every 
black  art  of  gossip,  every  twist  and  turn  of 
the  ropes  of  inhumanity,  and  do  they  not  attend 
church  and  look  for  the  coming  of  the  kingdom 
of  God?  What  kind  of  a  revival  will  meet  this 
case  ?  Hysteria  will  not  do,  nor  the  devoutness 
of  Lent,  nor  a  turn  at  psychic  healing,  whether 
as  patient  or  patron.  What  is  demanded  here 
is  the  axe  laid  at  the  root  of  the  tree ;  the  new 
heaven  and  the  new  earth,  wherein  dwelleth 
righteousness ;  the  renunciation  of  the  devil  and 
all  his  works,  and  the  profound  and  sincere 
appeal  to  the  Eternal  God.4 

There  speaks  a  man  who  is  as  prodigal  in  his 
brotherliness  as  he  is  pungent  in  his  rebuke  of 
sin,  sham,  and  unreality ;  a  man  to  know  whom 
is  a  religion.  If  there  is  such  a  thing  as  Chris¬ 
tian  envy,  not  evil  but  honourable — a  kind  of 
joyous  jealousy  in  the  presence  of  great  work 
greatly  done — the  ministry  of  Dr.  Gordon, 
alike  by  its  completeness,  its  consistent  devotion 
to  an  “august  opportunity/'  and  its  fruitfulness 


*  Religion  and  Miracle. 


34  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

in  practical  service,  would  excite  such  an  emo¬ 
tion.  One  cannot  overestimate  the  worth,  both 
in  achievement  and  example,  of  his  years  of 
high,  incessant  work,  full  of  the  peace  of  great 
thoughts  and  the  chastening  force  of  pure 
motives,  undisturbed  by  vulgar  popularity. 
Lovable  as  a  friend,  wise  as  an  adviser,  inspir¬ 
ing  as  a  teacher,  beloved  as  a  shepherd  of  souls, 
the  nearer  one  comes  to  him  the  more  just  and 
stainless  he  seems  to  be.  No  great  preacher 
has  ever  been  more  responsive  to  the  gallant 
and  chivalrous  love  of  his  younger  brethren, 
all  of  whom  will  join  me  in  applying  to  him 
these  words  of  his  own,  written  of  one  whom 
he  loved  and  admired : 

Above  all  else  for  this  high  grace,  we,  his 
brethren  in  the  ministry,  revere  and  love  him. 
Under  his  influence  we  feel  upon  our  hearts 
the  peace  of  God,  and  we  do  not  grudge  him  his 
great  gifts,  his  distinguished  success  or  his 
place  in  the  reverent  esteem  of  thousands.  He 
has  blessed  us  with  the  sense  of  the  grace  that 
comes  only  from  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  the 
love  that  issues  from  God  the  Father,  and  the 
friendship  that  stands  in  the  communion  of  the 
Holy  Spirit.  Long  may  his  witness  continue. 
Long  may  he  live  in  his  hospitable  home,  among 


George  A.  Gordon  35 

his  books  and  his  friends,  with  his  fruitful  pen 
busy  in  the  service  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 
In  his  day  may  there  be  no  failing  light,  and 
when  the  inevitable  evening  comes  may  its  soft 
farewell  fires  be  lost  in  the  glorious  peace  of  the 
eternal  morning. 


II:  John  A.  Hutton 

In  a  series  of  sketches  of  living  preachers  by 
Hugh  Sinclair,  in  1912,  Dr.  Hutton  was  in¬ 
cluded,  but  he  did  not  come  off  very  well.  As 
minister  of  the  wealthy  Belhaven  Church,  Glas¬ 
gow,  he  was  described  as  “a  well-placed  man,” 
meaning  that  he  fitted  a  well-groomed  congre¬ 
gation  of  aristocratic  people  whom  other  people 
like  to  know.  Nor  was  it  difficult,  the  author 
said,  to  imagine  the  type  of  minister  who  goes 
with  such  a  church.  He  must  be  a  man  of 
ability,  of  course,  and  he  must  possess  the  mod¬ 
ern  equivalent  of  “soundness  in  the  faith,” 
with  a  distinct  talent  for  finding  a  foothold  in 
Scripture  for  the  uneasy  mind  of  the  age. 
Public-spirited,  within  well-defined  limits,  he 
must  be,  with  the  maximum  of  social  tact  and 
the  knack  of  genial  acquaintanceship ;  “and  one 
can  imagine  a  gift  for  opportune  silence  super¬ 
latively  useful.”  Balance,  sanity,  a  realistic 

mental  habit,  a  turn  for  middle  ways,  and  a 

36 


John  A.  Hutton  37 

diplomatic  personality,  were  named  as  the 
characteristics  of  the  minister  of  Belhaven : 

He  is  shrewd,  terse  and  stimulating,  flings 
out  the  kind  of  a  challenge  that  is  provocative 
without  being  provoking,  makes  his  hearers 
feel  that  he  respects  their  views  even  when  he 
is  demolishing  them,  states  his  points  seriously 
but  without  over-stringency.  He  has  a  sure 
eye  for  the  practically  effective,  is  master  of 
the  art  of  putting  things,  gives  us  the  kind  of 
truth  we  can  understand;  has  a  gift  of  recon¬ 
noitre  and  grip  which  commands  the  respect  of 
the  hard-headed  business  man.  “Clever”  is 
undoubtedly  a  word  that  fairly  applies  to  him — - 
the  question  remains,  in  what  sense?  Does  it 
sum  him  up,  or  is  it  merely  the  pinch  of  salt  in 
his  dish  of  wisdom?  Is  it  of  the  disconcerting 
order  that  breeds  instinctive  suspicion,  or  does 
it  add  practical  confidence  to  moral  trust?  Is 
is  merely  a  flair  of  the  things  that  “go  down” 
with  people,  or  an  instinct  for  the  shortest  way 
to  lift  people  up  ?  It  does  not  take  long  to  make 
up  one's  mind  on  that  score. 

It  is,  indeed,  the  touch  of  sympathy  that 
dominates  all  his  preaching — the  sympathy  of 
the  man  who  may  not  himself  be  deeply 
acquainted  with  grief  and  anguish,  but  whose 
fine  intuition  outruns  his  experience  as  John 
outran  Peter  long  ago.  To  the  problems  which 
arise  from  the  griefs  of  man  and  the  silence  of 
God  he  brings  a  quiet  but  profound  under- 


38  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

standing  and  a  healing  touch.  His  treatment 
covers  all  the  mysterious,  wistful  places  where 
the  wind  of  the  Spirit  stirs  the  reed  that  is  man, 
and  nearly  every  ford  where  the  soul’s  weak¬ 
ness  wrestles  with  the  eternal  strength,  except 
perhaps  the  ford  that  is  called  Jabbok.  The 
light  of  a  penetrative  but  reverent  compre¬ 
hension  plays  over  all  he  says.  Undramatic  in 
form,  he  has  much  of  the  dramatist’s  art,  much 
of  his  sensitiveness  to  human  fate,  of  his  swift 
understanding  of  human  sin  and  sorrow.  And 
with  this  there  goes  a  very  instant  and  vital 
sense  of  the  presence  of  God  in  human  life.1 

As  an  estimate  of  Dr.  Hutton — except  the 
last  part  of  it — such  a  passage  is  not  only 
superficial  and  inadequate,  but  actually  unjust. 
At  any  rate,  it  was  very  unlike  the  image  of 
him  which  I  had  formed  from  reading  his 
books,  all  of  which  I  had  followed  with  joy 
and  gratitude.  Certainly  the  unhappy  and 
misused  word  “clever”  is  the  last  word  I  should 
have  thought  of  applying  to  him.  As  far  back 
as  1904  I  read  his  Guidance  from  Robert 
Browning  in  Matters  of  Faith;  and  to  this  day 
I  do  not  know  a  better  exposition  of  the  mes¬ 
sage  of  that  glorious  singer  of  the  triumph  of 
faith.  Later,  in  1906,  I  read  his  Pilgrims  in 

1  Voices  of  Today,  by  Hugh  Sinclair. 


John  A.  Hutton  39 

the  Region  of  Faith ,  discussing  Amiel,  Tolstoy, 
Pater,  and  Newman;  a  study  in  temperament, 
showing  how  difficult  faith  is  for  introspective, 
self-analysing  minds  in  an  unsettled,  all-ques¬ 
tioning  age.  It  revealed  an  incomparable  in¬ 
terpreter  of  spiritual  experience  as  disclosed  in 
great  literature,  a  field  in  which  much  of  his 
best  service  has  been  rendered.  Nothing  better 
has  been  written  about  Walter  Pater,  and  no 
one  has  come  nearer  capturing  the  secret  of 
Newman,  whose  elusive,  if  not  inscrutable, 
personality  is  as  baffling  as  it  is  fascinating. 
Those  essays  prepared  me  for  his  brilliant 
studies  of  Nietzsche,  Chesterton,  Ibsen,  and 
Shaw,  in  Ancestral  Voices.  As  for  his  'ser¬ 
mons,  I  know  them  from  end  to  end,  from 
The  Fear  of  Things  to  the  latest  volume,  and 
regard  them  as  among  the  most  suggestive 
sermons  of  our  time,  richly  rewarding  alike  for 
their  spiritual  insight  and  for  their  artistic 
stroke. 

But  I  had  never  met  Dr.  Hutton,  or  heard 
him  preach,  until  he  came  down  to  London  for 
the  Thursday  noonday  service  on  the  day  of 
my  Recognition  as  minister  of  the  City  Temple 
— an  event  delayed  for  more  than  a  year  by 


40  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

the  exigencies  of  the  war.  It  was  a  memorable 
occasion,  made  so  by  the  genius  of  the  preacher 
• — who,  curiously  enough,  has  a  greater  fame  in 
America  and  a  larger  hearing  in  England  than 
in  his  own  Scotland — and  his  sermon  was  one 
of  the  dozen  supremely  great  sermons  I  have 
heard  in  my  life.  The  theme,  the  passion  of 
the  preacher,  the  posture  of  the  times — when 
the  idealism  of  the  war  was  beginning  to  cool — 
and,  above  all,  perhaps  the  meaning  of  the  day 
for  me  personally,  made  it  unforgettable  while 
memory  holds  her  throne.  Sitting  beside  him 
in  the  great  white  pulpit,  I  felt  the  very  heart¬ 
beat  of  the  vast  congregation  as  the  sermon 
went  home  to  each  hearer,  now  with  terrible 
intensity,  now  with  melting  pathos,  now  with 
an  intimacy  indescribable,  as  if  the  preacher 
had  moved  to  and  fro  whispering  into  each 
ear — so  truly  did  our  own  souls  speak  to  us  in 
the  voice  from  the  pulpit.  As  I  watched  the 
audience  and  listened,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
preaching,  at  its  highest,  is  the  greatest  art 
known  among  men,  more  vivid  than  archi¬ 
tecture,  more  intimate  than  music,  more  per¬ 
suasive  than  poetry.  My  Diary  gives  a  very 
dim  picture  of  that  scene,  but  it  offers  a  differ- 


John  A.  Hutton  41 

ent  estimate  of  Dr.  Hutton  from  that  of  his 
appraiser  in  1912.  Having  lost  one  son  in 
the  war,  and  another  wounded  in  a  terrifying 
manner,  it  could  no  longer  be  said  that  the 
preacher  knew  grief  and  anguish  only  by 
imaginative  intuition : 

Jan.  18th,  1918: — What  a  sermon  Dr.  Hut¬ 
ton  preached  in  the  City  Temple  yesterday, 
both  for  its  eloquence  and  its  appropriateness. 
He  dealt  with  “The  Temptation/'  that  is  the 
one  temptation  which  sums  up  all  others,  in¬ 
cluding  that  of  the  minister,  to  which  he 
alluded  with  illuminative  understanding.  What 
is  the  Great  Temptation,  faced  by  Jesus  in  the 
wilderness  and  escaped  by  none  of  the  sons  of 
men?  It  is  the  cynical  spirit,  by  which  we  are 
sorely  tried  in  these  days,  and  will  be  more 
terribly  tried  later,  because  it  haunts  all  high 
moods.  Subtly,  artfully,  it  seeks  to  lower, 
somehow,  the  lights  of  the  soul,  to  slay  ideals, 
to  betray  and  deliver  us  to  base-mindedness. 
Satan,  said  the  preacher,  is  the  base-minded 
spirit ;  he  is  the  denier,  as  God  is  the  Affirmer, 
within  all  souls.  Such  preaching !  He  searches 
like  a  surgeon  and  heals  like  a  physician. 
Seldom,  if  ever,  have  I  had  a  man  walk  right 
into  my  heart  with  a  lighted  candle  in  his  hand, 
as  he  did,  and  look  into  the  dark  corners.  For 
years  I  had  known  Dr.  Hutton  as  a  master  of 
the  inner  life,  whether  dealing  with  the  Bible 


42  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

At  Close  Quarters ,  or  with  the  friends  and 
aiders  of  faith,  like  Browning;  and  there  are 
passages  in  The  Winds  of  God  that  haunt 
me  like  great  music.  And  no  book  in  this  dark 
time  of  war — in  which,  alas,  the  author  has 
suffered  his  share  of  bitter  loss— has  gripped 
me  more  firmly,  more  surely,  than  his  Loyalty , 
the  Approach  to  Faith.  There  one  hears  not 
the  great  guns  behind  dim  horizons,  but  their 
echo  in  the  lonely  places  of  the  soul.  As  a 
guide  to  those  who  are  walking  in  the  middle 
years  of  life,  where  bafflements  of  faith  are 
many  and  moral  pitfalls  are  deep,  there  is  no 
one  like  Hutton ;  no  one  to  stand  alongside  him. 
Rich  as  his  books  are,  his  preaching  is  much 
more  wonderful  than  his  writings.  His  style 
is  indeed  a  marvel,  but  one  does  not  think  of 
it  while  he  is  preaching.  While  his  sermon 
has  the  finish  of  a  literary  essay,  it  is  delivered 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  an  evangelist.  The 
whole  man  goes  into  it,  uniting  humour,  pathos, 
poetry  and  hard  reason,  literature,  life,  unction, 
with  a  certain  wildness  of  abandon,  as  of  one 
possessed,  which  is  the  note  of  truly  great 
preaching.  In  my  humble  judgment  he  is  the 
greatest  preacher  in  Britain. 

The  sermon  was  published — alas,  only  in 
part,  whole  sections  of  it  having  been  im¬ 
promptu — in  a  volume  entitled  Our  Only 
Safeguard ;  but  like  most  printed  sermons,  it 


John  A.  Hutton  43 

lacks  the  inspiration  of  the  occasion  and  the 
transfiguration  of  personality.  The  sermon 
was  read,  as  is  the  usual — though  not  in¬ 
variable — habit  of  the  preacher;  but  for  the 
last  twenty  minutes  he  forgot  his  manuscript 
entirely,  and  plunged  into  the  dark  forest  of 
Russian  literature — which  he  has  studied  more 
profoundly  than  any  man  in  the  modern  pulpit 
— to  the  heart-shaking  scene  in  the  fifth 
chapter  of  the  fifth  book  of  The  Brothers 
Karamazov ,  by  Dostoevsky,  where  the  spirit 
of  anti-Christ,  incarnated  in  the  Grand  In¬ 
quisitor,  is  face  to  face  with  Christ.  The  faces 
of  the  audience  seemed  ashy  grey  as  they  saw 
the  Christ-spirit  grapple  with  ultimate  Evil 
wearing  the  robes  of  the  church.  It  made  the 
very  soul  shiver.  The  sentences  of  the  preacher 
flashed  like  lightning.  He  crouched  behind 
the  pulpit,  his  face  livid  with  all  the  sinister 
suggestions  of  the  scene,  as  the  cool,  cunning 
Spirit  of  Evil  defied  Christ  in  his  own  name! 
As  a  commentary  on  the  temptation  of  Jesus, 
which  he  had  taken  for  his  text,  it  was  over¬ 
whelming.  Then  his  whole  being  lighted  up 
as  he  saw,  and  made  all  who  heard  him  see,  the 
incredible  might  of  the  Spirit  of  Love  which, 


44  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

on  the  cross,  revealed  a  power  equal  to  the 
darkest  tragedy  and  the  most  desperate  tempta¬ 
tion  of  human  life.  After  the  service,  to  an 
eager  group  in  the  vestry,  he  discoursed  of 
Russia  and  its  spiritual  history  and  message. 
His  knowledge  of  all  things  Russian  was  amaz¬ 
ing,  and  his  talk  about  it  was  one  of  the 
wonders  of  conversational  genius. 

Often  it  has  been  said  that  Dr.  Hutton — like 
F.  W.  Robertson — is  a  preacher  to  preachers; 
and  that  is  true  indeed,  but  in  many  other 
senses  than  the  saying  usually  implies.  To  go 
through  any  of  his  many  volumes,  with  their 
instinct  for  the  right  subject  and  their  fertile 
actuality  of  treatment — their  wealth  of  spiri¬ 
tual  insight,  intellectual  surprise,  and  literary 
grace — is  at  once  to  understand  why  so  many 
preachers  are  keen  students  of  him.  He  sug¬ 
gests  to  them  the  kind  of  theme  they  find  it 
worthwhile  to  talk  about,  and,  without  abrogat¬ 
ing  the  necessity  of  their  own  thought,  he  sets 
their  minds  travelling  on  all  kinds  of  stimulat¬ 
ing  roads.  Everywhere  he  goes  he  opens 
doors,  and  there  is  hardly  a  page  on  which  he 
does  not  set  a  lighted  candle  down  beside  some 
dark  text,  or  some  dark  experience,  and  leave 


John  A,  Hutton  45 

it  burning.  But  he  does  more.  It  was  a  saying 
of  Joseph  Parker  that  any  man  who  preaches 
to  broken  hearts  preaches  to  the  times;  and  in 
the  widest  and  profoundest  sweep  of  that  spirit 
Dr.  Hutton  preaches  to  the  times  in  which  we 
live.  Not  only  does  he  bring  to  our  troubled 
age  the  grace  of  insight  and  the  comfort  of 
great  ideas,  but  he  reads  the  signs  of  the  age 
as  few  men  are  able  to  do.  For  skilled,  pene¬ 
trating  diagnosis  of  present-day  symptoms — 
as  in  his  volume,  Discerning  the  Times — he 
is  one  of  our  first  men;  and  there  is  no  flimsy 
sentimentalism  or  superficiality  about  his  pre¬ 
scriptions,  which  is  another  way  of  saying  that 
he  sets  “the  times”  in  the  perspective  of  Time, 
linking  passing  moods  and  events  with  abiding 
realities. 

Few  people  realise  how  much  the  man  in  the 
pulpit  preaches  to  himself,  and  what  a  struggle 
goes  on  in  his  heart  in  respect  of  the  faith  that 
makes  us  men.  With  some  it  is  a  moral 
struggle,  with  some  temperamental  obscura¬ 
tions,  with  some  intellectual  difficulties;  and 
not  a  few  men  of  saintly  character  have  re¬ 
mained  uncertain  to  the  end.  They  walked  by 
faith,  not  by  knowledge.  “Rabbi”  Duncan,  of 


46  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

Edinburgh,  called  himself  to  the  last  an  in¬ 
tellectual  sceptic.  Life  had  for  him  on  one  side 
a  precipice,  down  to  the  abysses,  but  on  the 
other  side  his  feet  were  on  the  rock;  and  that 
rock  was  experience.  It  is  still  a  matter  of 
debate  whether  Newman  was  not  in  intellect  a 
sceptic,  as  in  heart  he  was  a  mystic.  Even  a 
casual  student  of  Joseph  Parker  must  feel  in 
him  the  stress  of  a  struggle  never  adjourned — 
“an  atheism  within  a  theism,”  as  he  called  it — 
and  if  he  did  not  become  a  saint,  he  had  it  in 
him  to  be  a  thorough-going  sceptic,  as  well  as 
a  great  sinner.  So  it  is  with  Dr.  Plutton,  in 
whom  one  finds  so  little  of  that  over-belief 
which  to  men  who  live  in  the  thick  of  things 
often  sounds  like  cant,  or  else  like  a  fourth 
dimension.2  Such  struggles  make  him  a  helper 
of  others  who  are  not  strong  swimmers,  and  if 
he  has  great  compassion  it  is  because  he  knows 

2  This  does  not  mean  that  Dr.  Hutton  is  in  his  heart  a 
sceptic, — far  from  it! — but  simply  that  he  knows  the  nature 
of  faith,  and  prefers  its  risk  and  peril  and  moral  urgency  to 
the  paralysis  of  dead  certainty;  as  the  Pope,  in  The  Ring  and 
the  Book,  prayed  to  be  delivered  from  “the  torpor  of  assur¬ 
ance.”  His  position  is  wlell  set  forth  in  “Further  Thoughts  from 
my  Note-book  on  Newman,”  which  appears  as  an  addendum  to 
his  Pilgrims  of  Faith.  Faith  stands  midway  between  denial 
and  credulity,  both  of  which  mean  the  end  of  adventure  and 
entreaty.  Dr.  Hutton  agrees  with  Emerson  when  he  said  that 
God  has  given  us  the  choice  “between  truth  and  repose,” 
whereas  half  the  modern  world  is  seeking  repose. 


John  A.  Hutton  47 

that  every  man  fights  a  hard  fight — often 
against  heavy  odds. 

One  does  not  wonder  at  the  enthusiasm  of 
Dr.  Hutton  for  Browning,  which  permeated  so 
much  of  his  earlier  preaching  and  writing. 
Like  that  mighty  poet,  he,  too,  sees  with  un¬ 
flinching  eye  the  risk  and  adventure  of  faith, 
the  pathos  and  peril  of  our  mortal  strife, 
vividly  aware  of  the  contradictions  and  des¬ 
perate  enigmas  which  life  flings  in  the  teeth  of 
the  soul.  He,  too,  sees  life  as  one  might  see 
a  man  from  whom  one  expected  kindness  and 
friendship  doing  brutal,  outrageous  things, 
and  offering  closed  lips  and  averted  eyes  to  all 
demands  for  an  explanation.  The  man  is  an 
enemy,  then,  and  we  are  at  his  mercy? 

“Hush,  I  pray  you ! 

What  if  this  friend  happen  to  be — God?” 

To  know  the  meaning  of  that  “Hush”  in  his 
own  heart,  to  be  able  to  say  it  convincingly,  so 
that  a  man  who  is  being  buffeted  and  blud¬ 
geoned  by  hard  lot,  or  beshadowed  by  deep 
grief,  can  believe  it  and  take  hope — surely  that 
is  the  highest  service  which  a  man  can  render 
to  his  fellows.  Of  that  finest  of  all  arts  Dr. 


48  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

Hutton  is  a  master ;  he  knows  how  to  comfort 
men  in  the  true  sense,  that  is,  not  merely  to 
soothe,  but  to  strengthen,  fortify,  establish.  At 
any  rate,  no  man  living  can  preach  to  me  as  he 
can,  in  certain  moods,  doubly  so  when  he  pins 
me  to  the  wall  and  forces  me  to  face  the  facts 
of  the  moral  life,  bringing  to  bear  his  power 
of  spiritual  analysis,  his  gift  for  tracking  the 
subtler  movements  of  the  soul,  its  hidden 
motives,  its  push  and  pull  of  resolution,  its  blind 
thoughts  we  know  not  nor  can  name,  and  what 
Woolman  called  “the  stop  in  the  mind.” 

For  the  same  reason  that  Dr.  Hutton  lent  his 
soul  to  Browning  in  the  earlier  years,  he  now 
turns  to  the  great  Russians,  and  especially  to 
Dostoevsky,  whom  he  regards  as  the  profound- 
est  spiritual  genius  of  recent  centuries.  The 
Russians,  he  thinks,  come  near  to  forming  an 
exception  to  the  law  that  no  man  can  see  God 
and  live.  Some  of  them  have  almost  seen  Him 
and  have  lived  to  tell  what  they  saw.  The  last 
time  I  heard  him  he  had  been  reading  a  Rus¬ 
sian  book  in  which  it  seemed  that  the  last  truth 
of  things  was  revealed  with  a  thoroughness 
and  unflinchingness  of  which  we  in  the  West 
are  incapable.  The  book  itself  was  a  huddled 


John  A.  Hutton  49 

and  tumultuous  business,  apparently  without 
plot,  the  interest  being  created  and  sustained  by 
the  sharpness  of  the  author’s  psychology.  The 
writer — whose  name  he  did  not  give — had 
created  a  truly  wonderful  effect  by  making  all 
his  characters  run  away  from  the  things  which 
they  knew  and  acknowledged  to  be  perfectly 
true.  Looking  superficially  at  the  book,  one 
would  say  that  it  was  disjointed,  unstable,  and 
futile,  but  beneath  the  surface  it  held  a  lesson 
which  few  western  writers  could  enforce. 
Christ  was  not  mentioned  in  the  book  from  first 
to  last,  but  nevertheless  he  pervaded  the  whole 
of  it,  as  he  does  so  much  of  Russian  literature, 
just  as  Julius  Caesar,  while  making  only  a 
fugitive  appearance  in  the  Shakespeare  play 
of  that  title,  is  felt  in  every  line  of  it.  From 
such  a  delineation  of  the  unmentioned  but 
acknowledged  Christ,  from  whom  men  run 
away  in  fear,  not  of  him,  but  of  themselves,  he 
made  us  understand  how  even  now,  in  spite  of 
its  apparent  rejection  of  him,  Christ  is  over¬ 
coming  the  world.  A  book  by  Dr.  Hutton — 
and  his  friends  will  never  let  him  rest  until 
he  writes  it — interpreting  the  soul  of  Russia  in 
its  literature,  and  most  of  all  the  Russian  ex- 


50  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

perience  of  Christ,  would  introduce  us  to  a  new 
home  of  ideas — ideas,  too,  of  such  a  kind  that 
they  may  yet  heal  this  tortured  world  of  ours 
as  with  a  balm.3 

It  is  a  criticism  of  Dr.  Hutton,  and  also  a 

3  Since  this  essay  was  written  Dr.  Hutton  has  published  his 
lectures  on  preaching — “conversations,”  he  prefers  to  call 
them — delivered  to  divinity  students  at  Aberdeen,  Edinburgh, 
and  Glasgow,  under  the  title,  That  the  Ministry  be  not  Blamed. 
It  is  a  brilliant  book,  rich  in  personal  revelation,  and  if  one 
may  not  follow  all  the  methods  he  recommends — as  to  reading, 
for  example — he  may  well  be  tenacious  of  methods  which 
have  been  so  fruitful  in  his  own  ministry.  More  than  once  he 
speaks  of  “the  Great  Russians  who  know  everything,  and  who 
know  so  much  about  the  soul  of  man  indeed  that  our  most 
subtle  minds,  minds  like  Meredith’s  even,  seem  heavy  and 
half  awake.”  His  indebtedness  to  Browning  is  celebrated 
with  rejoicing  gratitude,  in  a  passage  which  is  also  a  plea 
for  the  ministry  as  a  vocation : 

“Surely  it  is  no  time  for  a  sensitive  man  who  knows  history, 
and  who  knows  his  own  soul,  to  hesitate  on  the  threshold 
of  this  ancient  career.  Probably  never  in  the  history  of  man 
was  the  great  and  final  question  about  life  at  stake  as  it  is 
today.  All  our  questions  fall  back  upon  deeper  questions,  and 
these  on  deeper  still,  until  they  pause  before  the  great  and 
Awful  question  as  to  what  this  life  of  ours  means.  Are  we 
human  beings  irrelevant  to  this  vast  system  which  was  our 
cradle  and  becomes  our  grave?  Or  is  there  a  blessed  hy¬ 
pothesis  which  thinking,  feeling  men  can  honourably  hold — a 
hypothesis  which  without  robbing  life  of  its  mystery  and 
awe  ends  for  us  its  aching  ambiguity?  May  we  speak 
to  men  of  God?  There  is  one  solving  word  for  this  universe: 
it  is  God.  There  is  one  solving  word  for  God:  it  is  Christ. 

I  am  sorry  for  you  men  that  you  have  no  great  poet,  as 
we  had,  to  set  your  Christian  blood  leaping,  and  disposing  you 
almost  to  dance  before  the  Lord.  We  had  Browning:  for 
whom  be  all  thanks  to  God  for  ever  and  for  ever.  And 
Browning  spent  his  whole  life  and  wrote  seventeen  volumes 
to  this  and  no  other  effect: 

While  I  see  day  succeed  the  deepest  night — 

How  can  I  speak  but  as  I  know? — my  speech 
Must  be,  throughout  the  darkness,  ‘It  will  end: 

The  light  that  did  burn,  will  burn !’  ” 


John  A.  Hutton  51 

tribute  to  him,  that,  rich  as  his  sermons  and 
essays  are,  they  seem  too  much  like  by-products 
to  be  accepted  as  his  final  contribution  to  the 
religious  thought  of  his  time.  All  his  friends 
feel  that  he  has  it  in  him  to  do  some  great 
thing  in  behalf  of  the  life  of  faith — a  thing 
which  no  one  else  can  do — and  for  this  they  are 
waiting.  So  rare  a  blend  of  spiritual  and 
literary  resource,  so  unique  a  gift  of  insight 
and  expression,  which  have  given  him  an  in¬ 
fluence  and  power  such  as  few  preachers  can 
command,  ought  to  be  employed  at  full  stretch 
on  the  problems  to  which  the  modern  mind  is 
so  sensitive.  The  best  promise  of  a  fulfilment 
of  this  demand,  so  far,  is  his  series  of  lectures 
on  The  Proposal  of  Jesus,  which  sets  the  life 
and  ministry  of  the  Master  in  a  new  and  re¬ 
vealing  light.  It  is  one  of  the  most  fruitful 
books  of  recent  times,  suggestive  even  in  its 
discursiveness,  and  one  which  no  one  can  read 
without  feeling  anew  that  the  hope  of  the  world 
is  that  we  may  yet  discover  what  Christianity 
is.  In  this  discovery  and  interpretation  of  the 
religion  of  Jesus,  Dr.  Hutton,  now  in  the  prime 
and  splendour  of  his  powers — richly  endowed, 
radiant  in  his  insight  and  personality — ought 


52  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

to  have  a  great  part.  He  himself,  with  that 
divination  of  the  deeper  trend  of  things  which 
is  so  marked  a  trait  of  his  genius,  feels  that 
we  are  on  the  eve  of  unpredictable  revelations 
and  advances  in  the  faith  and  fortune  of  our 
humanity.  As  we  may  read  in  a  passage  of 
which  I  am  fond : 

“1  sometimes  think  that  in  a  great,  wholesale 
way  we  are  all  of  us  about  to  make  a  wonder¬ 
ful  discovery.  At  times  it  seems  to  me  as 
though  we  were  on  the  edge  and  moment  of  a 
world-shaking  revolution  in  thought  and  mood. 
For  a  long  time  now  we  have  been  feeling  our 
way  in  a  vast,  unlit  corridor,  contending  with 
others  in  the  dark,  striking  out  at  shapes  which 
seem  to  be  wishing  to  do  us  harm,  when  all  the 
time  they,  like  ourselves,  may  only  have  been 
out  upon  their  business,  and,  like  us,  in  the 
dark.  I  sometimes  think  that  in  answer  to  the 
cry  of  our  present  distress  a  light  is  once  more 
about  to  shine:  and  by  this  light  we  shall  see 
again  an  open  door,  and  beyond  this  door  the 
fair  earth  and  sky.  I  sometimes  think  that 
we  are  all  of  us  on  the  point  of  making  the 
discovery  that  our  Christianity  is  true,  and  that 
for  mankind  to  oppose  it  or  neglect  it,  is  for 
mankind  in  the  long  run — and  a  long  run  is 
needed  for  the  testing  of  principles — to  rush 
down  a  steep  place  and  to  perish.” 


III.  Dean  Inge,  of  St.  Paul’s 

At  a  meeting  of  the  Whitefriars  Club  one 
night  Dean  Inge  read  an  essay  on  immortality.: 
It  was  an  able  essay,  of  course,  albeit  so  ab¬ 
stract  and  difficult  to  follow  that  it  left  the 
company  puzzled,  if  not  depressed.  The  eternal 
hope  seemed  as  remote  as  a  star,  as  vague  as  a 
dream,  and  so  attenuated  as  to  be  hardly  desir¬ 
able  at  all.  No  one  had  the  courage  to  start 
the  discussion,  until  Bernard  Shaw  made  bold 
to  say  that  having  lived  sixty  years,  or  there¬ 
abouts,  he  was  not  encouraged  to  go  on  by  such 
a  prospect.  It  was  too  awful  to  contemplate, 
and  he  proceeded  to  advocate  the  organisation 
of  a  Suicide  Club.  The  essay,  or  an  elaboration 
of  it,  appeared  in  Outspoken  Essays — one  of 
the  few  books  of  our  day  which  will  be  read 
fifty  years  hence — and  the  impish  attitude  of 
Shaw,  who  is  never  more  happy  than  when  he 
can  gibe  a  dean  or  a  bishop,  may  be  inferred 
from  his  review  of  that  volume.  Among  other 
saucy  things,  he  said : 


53 


54  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

These  essays,  dazzling  as  they  are,  have  done 
much  to  confirm  me  in  a  conviction  which  has 
been  deepening  in  me  for  years,  that  what  we 
call  secondary  education  as  practised  in  our 
public  schools  and  universities  is  destructive  to 
any  but  the  strongest  minds,  and  even  to  them 
is  disastrously  confusing.  I  find  in  the  minds 
of  all  able  and  original  men  and  women  who 
have  been  so  educated,  a  puzzling  want  of 
homogeneity.  They  are  full  of  chunks  of  un¬ 
assimilated  foreign  bodies  which  are  more 
troublesome  and  dangerous  than  the  vacancies 
I  find  in  the  minds  of  those  who  have  not  been 
educated  at  all.  I  prefer  a  cavity  to  a  cancer 
or  a  calculus :  it  is  capable  of  being  filled  with 
healthy  tissue  and  is  not  malignant.  In  the 
mind  of  the  dean,  which  is  quite  unmistakably 
a  splendid  mind,  I  find  the  most  ridiculous  sub¬ 
stances,  as  if,  after  the  operation  of  educating 
him,  the  surgeon-pedagogue  had  forgotten  to 
remove  his  sponges  and  instruments  and  sewn 
them  up  inside  him. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Dean  Inge  is  one  of 
the  greatest  minds  on  the  British  Isles;  but  if 
his  thinking  does  not  give  one  quite  the  im¬ 
pression  of  hopeless  confusion  which  Shaw  de¬ 
scribed,  it  does  set  one  wondering  over  that 
extraordinary  bundle  of  antinomies  we  call  the 
human  intellect.  An  aristocrat  by  nature  and 
training,  he  has  the  knack  of  catching  the  ear 


Dean  Inge,  of  St.  Paul’s  55 

of  the  crowd,  as  much  by  the  vivid  colors  he 
employs  as  by  the  challenge  of  his  thought.  If 
not  actually  a  pessimist  in  his  temperament,  he 
is  at  least  a  Cassandra — doomed  to  tell  the 
bitter  truth  and  have  nobody  believe  it — whose 
dismal  outlook  entitles  him  to  be  called  “the 
gloomy  dean,”  a  title  given  as  a  reward  for  his 
remarkable  lectures  on  The  Church  and  the 
Age.  One  such  prophet,  if  no  more,  is  needed 
in  every  generation,  and  we  are  sorely  in  need 
of  one  in  America,  if  only  to  mitigate  our  easy, 
evasive  optimism  which  plays  ostrich  in  the 
face  of  dark  facts.  A  great  Christian  teacher, 
the  dean  seems  to  contradict  in  one  breath  what 
he  says  in  the  next;  so  much  so  that  the 
Methodist  Times,  after  reading  his  Romanes 
Lecture  on  Progress,  was  moved  to  ask: 
“Has  Dean  Inge  heard  of  the  gospel?”  A 
rationalist  who  relegates  miracles  to  “the 
sphere  of  pious  opinion,”  he  is  an  apostle  of  a 
lofty,  if  somewhat  severe,  spirituality;  and  at 
the  very  moment  when  one  expects  his  shrewd, 
positive  mind  to  be  dogmatic,  he  “slips  through 
the  stile  of  religious  imagination  to  gather 
moon-flowers  betwixt  dusk  and  dawn.” 

The  surprise  was  general  when  the  dean 


56  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

chose  Christian  mysticism  as  the  theme  of  his 
Bampton  Lectures;  and  if  at  first  reading  he 
did  not  seem  to  get  beyond  the  fringe  of  the 
subject,  interest  soon  shifted  from  the  thesis 
to  the  personality  of  the  author.  It  was  aston¬ 
ishing  that  one  of  his  type  of  mind,  who  ap¬ 
parently  had  not  the  slightest  suspicion  that 
“they  see  not  clearest  who  see  all  things  clear/’ 
should  undertake  such  a  study.  But  a  further 
reading  revealed  an  odd  mixture  of  rationalism 
and  spiritual  immediacy,  and  in  spite  of  his 
criticisms  of  the  excesses  and  excrescences  of 
mysticism,  the  sober  web  of  his  thought  was 
shot  through  with  the  glow  and  fire  of  the 
reality  he  sought  to  expound.  Since  that  time 
there  have  been  many  manuals  of  mysticism, 
some  wise,  some  not  wise.  Evelyn  Underhill 
is  scholarly,  weighty,  noble,  though  a  medie¬ 
valist  ;  E.  Herman  is  worth  looking  into,  albeit 
too  much  inclined  to  cleverness — like  a  juggler 
doing  tricks  with  the  Pearl  of  Eternity.  The 
great  masterpiece  in  exposition  of  mysticism  in 
our  day  is  The  Way  of  Divine  Union ,  by  A. 
E.  Waite,  who  writes  from  the  inside  and  with 
the  winged  wisdom  of  a  poet,  as  one  who  has 
in  his  experience  that  which  gives  him  the  key 


Dean  Inge,  of  St.  Paul’s  57 

to  much  that  is  hidden  from  others.  But  Dean 
Inge  led  the  way  in  the  study  of  mysticism,  and 
it  is  his  subtle,  shy  affinity  with  the  mystics  that 
makes  him  a  worthy  successor  to  a  great 
dynasty  of  deans,  and  the  one  voice  to  which  all 
England  listens. 

As  a  preacher  Dean  Inge  is  singularly  ef¬ 
fective,  if  one  forgets  the  most  amazing 
mannerisms  ever  seen  in  a  pulpit,  and  attends 
to  the  matter  of  his  discourse.  With  clear-cut, 
ascetic  face,  scholarly  in  bearing,  looking  taller 
than  he  is,  he  has  a  sober,  dry-eyed,  didactic 
personality,  and  an  elocution  atrocious  in  its 
angularity.  As  he  rises  to  read  his  sermon — 
often  without  noticing  that  the  audience  is 
present — that  straight,  level,  self-contained 
look  makes  no  appeal,  and  the  thin,  flexible  lips 
seem  made  to  set  inferior  folk  right  on  no  very 
gentle  terms.  He  makes  little  concession  to 
dulness  or  ignorance.  As  he  reads  on,  his 
facial  expression  suggests  a  contortionist,  as 
he  launches  his  clear,  carrying  voice — rather 
rasping  at  times,  owing,  no  doubt,  to  his  deaf¬ 
ness — into  the  vast  spaces  of  the  cathedral. 
His  attitude  is  one  of  aristocratic  carelessness, 
as  if  he  trusted  to  the  vaults  and  pillars  to  bear 


58  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

his  message,  but  is  not  greatly  concerned 
whether  they  do  or  not.  His  matter  is  a  com¬ 
pound  of  epigram  and  paradox,  or  mordant  wit 
and  rapier-like  satire,  matching  the  tartness  of 
his  tones.  His  humour  is  of  the  intellectual 
variety,  and  more  often  than  not  with  a  sting 
in  its  tail.  Without  wasting  a  word,  in  a  style 
as  incisive  as  his  thought — clear,  concise,  keen¬ 
cutting — he  sets  forth  the  truth  as  he  sees  it. 
There  is  no  unction  in  his  preaching,  no  pathos. 
It  is  cold  intellect,  with  never  a  touch  of  tender¬ 
ness.  Much  of  what  he  says  is  more  able  than 
weighty,  more  brilliant  than  moving,  leaving 
one  wiser  rather  than  better,  abashed  rather 
than  lifted.  Yet,  at  rare  intervals,  in  the 
middle  of  a  lecture,  there  is  sometimes  a  brief 
unveiling,  and  one  sees  the  prophet-soul  behind 
the  superficial  habit  of  sardonic  criticism  and 
pungent  epigram. 

So  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's  stands  before  us 
with  his  dry,  biting  speech,  his  formidable  sar¬ 
casm,  his  alarming  air  of  finality,  his  startling 
gift  of  characterisation,  and  even  in  his 
gentlest  moods  one  feels  a  bleak  wind  round  the 
corner.  It  would  not  do  for  all  preachers  to  be 
of  his  order.  Men  need  comfort  as  well  as 


Dean  Inge,  of  St.  Paul’s  59 

castigation.  Yet  what  austere  sincerity  is  his, 
what  intrepid  courage,  what  weight  of  clear 
judgment,  what  prophetic  power !  His  quality 
is  that  of  the  Hebrew  prophets,  with  more  of 
Jeremiah  than  of  Isaiah  in  his  spiritual  outlook, 
and  if  he  inspires  less  affection  than  any  great 
preacher  of  his  time,  it  is  due  partly  to  his  for¬ 
bidding  temperament,  but  chiefly  to  his  habit  of 
exploding  shams  and  absurdities.  Using  the 
flail  of  John  the  Baptist,  he  is  a  gift  of  God  to 
our  age  with  its  “Lo,  here”  and  “Lo,  there,” 
and  every  kind  of  fad  runs  rife.  The  dean  is 
unconcerned  about  majorities,  impervious  to 
popular  feeling.  Indeed,  one  suspects  that  he 
is  uncomfortable  in  a  majority,  like  the  elder 
statesman  who,  when  his  speech  was  applauded 
by  the  multitude,  asked  uneasily,  “Have  I  said 
anything  very  foolish?”  Anyway,  he  holds 
it  to  be  a  maxim  that  “the  church  can  rarely 
co-operate  with  a  popular  movement,”  by  which 
he  means  that  it  can  seldom  tread  the  path  of 
success,  and  never  because  it  is  the  path  of  suc¬ 
cess.  Unfortunately  his  bald  veracity  is  not 
graced  by  the  genius  of  speaking  the  truth  in 
love,  and  he  utters  hard  sayings  regardless  of 
consequences;  but  he  will  not  compromise  his 


6o  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

gospel.  During  the  Great  War,  when  so  many 
churchmen  of  all  communions  took  low  ground, 
he  never  mitigated  by  one  iota  the  severity  of 
the  Christian  message.  Later,  when  so  many 
pandered  to  the  growing  power  of  the  labour 
movement,  the  dean  stood  firm,  refusing  to 
weaken  his  gospel  in  the  service  of  a  political 
party.  It  did  not  matter  that  he  was  denounced 
as  an  obstinate  obscurantist;  he  upheld  the 
dignity  of  a  faith  which  commands,  and  can 
never  be  subject  to  the  experiences  of  the  hour. 
Every  right-thinking  man  must  honour  the 
dean  for  his  unyielding  tenacity  to  principle; 
but  at  times  he  seems  to  stand  so  straight  that 
he  leans  backward.  Even  before  he  has  uttered 
a  word  against  it  one  knows  that  he  despises 
democracy  and  has  no  faith  in  it,  because  it 
smells  of  the  mob.  Certainly  he  does  not  be¬ 
lieve  that  the  majority  is  right,  much  less  that 
massed  ignorance  makes  wisdom.  Often  he 
seems  to  identify  democracy  with  socialism,  if 
not  with  demagogy,  and  he  smites  both  with 
the  swift  sword  of  his  satire.  Not  that  he  is 
opposed  to  social  reform.  He  would  indeed 
build  the  City  of  God  “in  England's  green  and 
pleasant  land" ;  but  always  with  the  tools  of  the 


Dean  Inge,  of  St.  Paul’s  6l 

spirit  Nor  does  this  attitude  mean,  as  his 
critics  are  so  ready  to  infer,  that  Christianity 
should  be  the  fortress  and  bulwark  of  aristoc¬ 
racy.  Far  from  it.  His  point  is  that  the 
church  must  be  ready,  if  need  be,  to  incur  the 
antagonism  of  old  aristocracy  and  the  vitupera¬ 
tions  of  young  demos  alike,  truckling  to  neither. 
She  must  not  cringe  to  the  masses  in  our  day 
as  she  once  did  to  the  classes ;  must  not  seek  to 
be  applauded  by  a  multitude  who  demanded  the 
crucifixion  of  her  Master,  and  could  demand 
it  again — that  is  the  core  of  a  message  de¬ 
livered  with  needless  acerbity,  invective  and 
scorn.  It  is  a  sound  message  and  one  sorely 
needed  in  our  day,  unpalatable  though  it  be. 
But  like  all  men  of  wisdom,  the  dean  has  his 
defects,  his  blind  spots,  the  chief  of  which — 
as  one  might  have  guessed — is  an  incredible 
astigmatism  with  respect  to  the  social  meaning 
and  application  of  Christianity.  Take,  for  ex¬ 
ample,  his  lecture  on  “The  Kingdom  of  God  in 
the  World,”  and  one  feels  that  the  gibe  of 
Bernard  Shaw  was  well  nigh  justified. 

Can  we  point  to  any  recognisable  type  of 
character  and  belief  and  say,  This  is  Chris¬ 
tianity?  We  might  try.  Say  that  belief  in 


62  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

the  fatherhood  of  God,  in  the  brotherhood  of 
man,  in  the  sacredness  and  eternal  importance 
of  the  essential  part  of  each  personality;  the 
immeasurable  superiority  of  moral  goodness  to 
any  worldly  advantages;  love  as  the  crown  of 
all  the  virtues ;  selfishness  as  the  root  of 
sin;  hypocrisy,  hard-heartedness  and  prudent 
worldliness  as  the  three  things  our  Lord  hated 
most,  trust  in  God  and  joy  even  in  affliction; 
the  simple  life ;  the  love  of  wisdom ;  accumula¬ 
tions  of  money  a  snare  to  their  owner;  the 
great  renunciation, — he  that  will  save  his  life 
shall  lose  it,  and  he  that  will  lose  his  life  shall 
save  it — and  what  Matthew  Arnold  calls  the 
method  of  inwardness — these  do  seem  to  be 
enough  for  a  fairly  clear  notion  of  what  a  real 
Christian  is  like,  and  in  considering  the  in¬ 
fluence  of  Christianity  on  the  social  order  this 
is  also  important:  that  the  gospel  works  by 
personal  influence  upon  the  will  and  affections 
and  not  by  external  machinery.  Jesus  left  no 
book,  no  code,  no  system:  he  wrote  his  gospel 
on  the  hearts  of  men.  A  slow  method?  Yes, 
it  is  a  slow  method:  it  is  not  easy  to  change 
people,  but  that  was  the  method  he  chose — like 
the  ancient  torch  race  in  which  the  wearied 
runner  handed  on  his  torch  to  someone  else  to 
carry  on.  The  Christian  religion  is  not  taught ; 
it  is  caught  from  someone  who  has  it. 

The  preaching  of  this  gospel  is  and  always 
has  been  the  great  business  of  the  church.  All 
Christians  must  agree  in  combating,  for  ex- 


Dean  Inge,  of  St.  Paul’s  63 

ample,  all  exploitation  and  ruining  of  souls 
all  that  great  network  of  co-operative  guilt 
with  limited  liability  which  makes  up  so  much 
of  secular  society.  But  when  we  are  invited 
to  go  further  and  take  sides  as  a  church  in  mat¬ 
ters  in  which  good  and  wise  men  are  divided, 
the  case  is  different.  I  am  not  suggesting  for 
a  moment  that  Christians  should  not  have 
political  opinions.  I  am  speaking  of  organised 
Christianity  as  such,  and  I  say  deliberately  that 
Christians  ought  not  to  organise  themselves 
as  Christians  for  any  particular  social  or 
political  propaganda.  We  do  not  want  a  power¬ 
ful  political  church  again,  whether  run  by 
Catholics  or  Independents.  Christianity  is  a 
leaven,  it  can  never  be  more.  Our  Lord  made 
that  absolutely  plain,  that  he  never  expected  to 
have  the  majority  on  his  side.  Our  Lord  never 
gave  any  reason  to  suppose  the  church  would 
ever  be  successful  in  winning  the  masses  as 
such.  He  never  gave  any  reason  to  think  there 
would  ever  be  an  inconvenient  crowd  gathered 
round  the  narrow  gate.  Therefore  all  this  kind 
of  clerical  demagogy  and  democracy  is  funda¬ 
mentally  contrary  to  his  method,  and  it  is, 
though  many  good  people  think  otherwise,  a 
treachery  against  his  teaching. 

There  we  have  it  “plain  and  flat,”  as  Lowell 
would  say;  on  the  one  side  a  powerful  political 
church  to  be  avoided,  and  on  the  other  not  even 
a  co-operative  conscience  with  limited  liability 


64  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

to  match  the  organised  iniquity  of  the  world. 
In  short,  every  protest  of  the  church  against 
political  infamy,  every  effort  of  Christians — 
other  than  individual — in  behalf  of  juster, 
wiser,  more  merciful  laws,  every  attempt  of 
the  pulpit  to  translate  the  teachings  of  Jesus 
into  practical  social  justice  is,  as  Dean  Inge 
sees  it  under  the  glorious  dome  of  St.  Paul’s, 
a  form  of  treachery  and  demagogy.  “What 
can  we  do?”  is  surely  a  fair  question,  and  the 
dean  answers  it  in  his  closing  lecture  on  “The 
Church  and  the  Age,”  from  which  we  learn, 
after  a  merciless  flaying  of  nearly  every  for¬ 
ward-looking  movement  of  our  time,  that  “the 
whole  duty  of  the  church  is  to  hold  up  the 
Christian  view  of  life,  the  Christian  standard 
of  values,  steadily  before  the  eyes”  of  the 
people,  laying  emphasis  upon  love,  sympathy, 
economy,  sincerity,  holy  living,  “setting  a  good 
example”  for  the  poorer  members  of  our  own 
class,  and  indirectly  for  “the  class  below,”  upon 
charity,  prayer,  and  the  duty  of  helping  to  form 
a  moral  public  opinion  against  the  evils  of  fool¬ 
ish  fashions,  gambling,  and  the  like.  More 
specifically,  three  avenues  of  influence  seem  to 
be  open  to  Christian  enterprise,  three  modern 


Dean  Inge,  of  St.  Paul’s  65 

tendencies  with  which  “we,  as  church  people, 
may  co-operate  and  assist.”  They  are  the 
breaking  down  of  class  barriers,  the  spread  of 
education,  and  the  care  of  public  health,  and 
especially  the  support  of  the  new  science  of 
eugenics !  Such  is  the  programme  of  the  Chris¬ 
tian  church,  as  outlined  in  the  old  grey  cathe¬ 
dral  of  England,  at  a  time  when  the  world  is 
shattered  by  universal  war,  disfigured  by  in¬ 
dustrial  brutality,  plundered  by  greed,  and 
staggering  under  the  shadow  of  a  vast  despair ! 
One  recalls  the  word  of  Carlyle:  “The  world 
asks  of  its  church  in  these  times,  more  passion¬ 
ately  than  of  any  other  institution,  the  ques¬ 
tion — Canst  thou  teach  us  or  not?” 

Howbeit,  my  purpose  here  is  not  to  argue 
with  Dean  Inge,  but  simply  to  portray  his  out¬ 
look  and  art  as  a  preacher.  He  stands  for  a 
point  of  view — held  by  many  noble  and  true 
hearted  men — which,  if  held  by  all,  would  make 
the  church  an  arcana  celestia  of  a  barren  and 
immovable  conservatism;  but  that  is  not  the 
attitude  of  the  church  of  today  and  it  never 
will  be!  Jesus  was  not  put  to  death  for  laying 
emphasis  upon  love,  sympathy,  prayer,  and  the 
doing  of  good,  but  for  making  a  definite  pro- 


66  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

posal  for  the  public  policy  of  the  world;  and 
if  following  him  leads  the  church  to  Calvary, 
it  is  not  better  than  its  leader.  For  the  char¬ 
acter,  the  scholarship,  and  the  noble  prophetic 
courage  of  Dean  Inge,  we  give  thanks,  but  we 
refuse  to  follow  him  in  his  advocacy  of  “the 
public  impotence  of  religion/'  His  fame  will 
outlive  his  defects,  and  the  stones  he  has  laid 
will  abide  as  a  foundation  for  other  and  per¬ 
haps  more  genial  workers.  One  such  stone  is 
his  vision  of  a  church  truly  one,  not  in  organ¬ 
isation  or  creed  or  ritual,  but  because  drawn  to 
communion  through  a  profound  veneration  and 
love  for  its  Master.  He  has  taught  us  out  of 
long  and  deep  study  that  the  mystics  all  tell 
the  same  tale ;  all  climb  the  same  mountain,  and 
their  witness  agrees  together.  All  ages,  all 
sects,  all  languages  are  blended  harmoniously 
on  that  shining  Jacob's  ladder  which  scales  the 
heavens  in  far  other  fashion  than  was  ever 
dreamed  of  by  the  builders  of  Babel.  Despite 
the  deflections  of  his  insight,  he  has  interpreted 
that  eternal  religion  which  is  the  original  divine 
poetry,  whereof  our  theologies  are  imperfect 
translations,  summing  it  up  in  a  golden  passage 
which  Bernard  Shaw  was  “wicked”  enough  to 


Dean  Inge,  of  St.  Paul’s  67 

say  is  one  of  the  rare  intervals  of  inspiration 
enjoyed  by  the  dean  in  the  midst  of  the  years : 

It  allows  us  what  George  Meredith  calls  “the 
rapture  of  the  forward  view.”  It  brings  home 
to  us  the  meaning  of  the  promise  of  Christ  that 
there  are  many  things  yet  hid  from  humanity 
which  will  in  the  future  be  revealed  by  the 
Spirit  of  Truth.  It  encourages  us  to  hope  that 
for  each  individual  who  is  trying  to  live  the 
right  life  the  venture  of  faith  will  be  progres¬ 
sively  justified  in  experience.  It  breaks  down 
the  denominational  barriers  which  divide  men 
and  women  who  worship  the  Father  in  spirit 
and  in  truth — barriers  which  become  more 
senseless  in  each  generation,  since  they  no 
longer  correspond  even  approximately  with 
real  differences  of  belief  or  of  religious 
temperament.  It  makes  the  whole  world  kin 
by  offering  a  pure  religion  which  is  substan¬ 
tially  the  same  in  all  climates  and  in  all  ages — 
a  religion  too  divine  to  be  fettered  by  any  man¬ 
made  formulas,  too  nobly  human  to  be  readily 
acceptable  to  men  in  whom  the  ape  and  tiger 
are  still  alive,  but  which  finds  a  congenial  home 
in  the  purified  spirit  which  is  the  throne  of  the 
Godhead.  Such  is  the  type  of  faith  which  is 
astir  among  us.  It  makes  no  imposing  show  in 
church  conferences ;  it  does  not  fill  our  churches 
and  chapels;  it  has  no  organisation,  no  propa¬ 
ganda;  it  is  for  the  most  passively  loyal,  with¬ 
out  much  enthusiasm,  to  the  institutions  among 


68  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

which  it  finds  itself.  But  in  reality  it  has  over¬ 
leapt  all  barriers;  it  knows  its  true  spiritual 
kin;  and  amid  the  strifes  and  perplexities  of 
a  sad,  troublous  time  it  can  always  cover  its 
hope  and  confidence  by  ascending  in  heart  and 
mind  to  the  heaven  which  is  closer  to  it  than 
breathing,  and  nearer  than  hands  and  feet, 


IV:  Charles  E.  Jefferson 


It  so  happened  that  I  heard  Dr.  Jefferson 
preach  just  after  I  had  read  his  four  golden 
books  of  counsel  and  guidance  in  the  matter  of 
preaching.1  It  was  an  interesting  experience, 
like  listening  to  a  master  painter  lecture 
on  painting,  and  then  watching  him  paint  a  pic¬ 
ture  ;  and  never  did  practice  fulfil  precept  more 
perfectly.  Those  four  books,  if  taken  together, 
form  the  best  course  of  practical  instruction 
for  a  young  minister  with  which  I  am  ac¬ 
quainted,  as  much  for  their  fraternal  spirit  as 
for  their  plain-spoken  wisdom.  They  have  the 
ring  of  reality,  the  tang  of  experience,  as  of 
one  who  is  not  spinning  a  theory  but  telling  us 
what  he  has  learned  by  living.  Uniting  a 
heavenly  vision  with  homely  common  sense, 
they  show  us  how,  since  we  have  this  treasure 

1  The  Minister  as  Shepherd  and  The  Minister  as  Prophet 
were  lectures  delivered  at  the  Bangor  Theological  Seminary; 
The  Building  of  the  Church  was  the  Yale  lectures  for  1910; 
while  Quiet  Hints  to  Growing  Preachers  is  a  series  of  familiar 
talks  in  the  study,  telling  things  that  laymen  need  not  hear. 

69 


70  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

in  earthen  vessels,  we  must  make  the  vessel  fit 
for  the  divine  use.  A  little  book  long  famous 
in  English  literature  was  entitled  A  Mirror 
for  Magistrates;  and  these  books  are  a  Mir¬ 
ror  for  Ministers,  showing  the  things  that  help 
and  the  faults  that  mar  the  ministry — a  mir¬ 
ror  held  in  a  wise  and  brotherly  hand. 

Some  of  us  regard  The  Building  of  the 
Church  as  one  of  the  best  of  all  the  historic 
series  of  Yale  Lectures,  if  only  because  it  ap¬ 
proaches  the  preacher  through  the  church. 
There  we  see  the  preacher  against  the  back¬ 
ground  of  “organised  preaching”  in  which  his 
labor  is  enshrined ;  in  the  environment  of  faith 
and  prophecy  of  which  he  is  both  the  creation 
and  the  interpreter.  The  thesis  of  the  lectures, 
expounded  with  characteristic  lucidity  of  in¬ 
sight  and  style,  is  that  preaching  involves  not 
one  man  only,  but  a  society  of  men  and  women. 
The  sermon  does  not  grow  out  of  the  soul  of 
the  preacher  alone,  but  out  of  the  deep  heart 
of  the  church.  It  is  not  the  preacher  who 
makes  the  church ;  it  is  the  church  which  makes 
the  preacher.  He  does  not  shape  himself,  but 
is  moulded  by  the  communal  life  and  faith  of 
a  body  of  believers,  and  gives  back  what  he 


Charles  E.  Jefferson  71 

receives.  The  church  in  her  corporate  experi¬ 
ence  is  his  mother,  to  whom  he  owes  his  life 
of  faith,  and,  by  the  same  token,  a  life  of  loy¬ 
alty.  He  is  not  an  isolated  individual,  but  an 
organ  functioning  in  an  organism;  and  his 
ministry  belongs  to  him  not  alone  by  virtue  of 
his  temperament,  his  poetic  gift,  or  his  social 
passion,  but  as  an  endowment  of  the  church  of 
God  whose  son  and  servant  he  is. 

With  this  thesis  fresh  in  my  mind,  when  I 
entered  the  “Skyscraper  Church,”  as  the 
Broadway  Tabernacle  is  called  by  the  New 
York  papers,  I  felt  that  I  was  approaching 
Dr.  Jefferson  through  the  great  church  which, 
in  its  present  form  and  influence,  is  the  crea¬ 
tion  of  his  faith  as  a  leader  and  his  acumen  as 
an  executive,  no  less  than  of  his  genius  as  a 
preacher.  When  he  came  to  New  York  in  1898 
he  found  a  church  living  almost  wholly  in  the 
past,  and  stifling  in  a  neighbourhood  quite  un¬ 
favourable  to  growth.  He  made  certain  de¬ 
mands  as  conditions  of  his  acceptance — there 
was,  I  am  told,  a  three  months'  option  clause, 
long  since  forgotten  by  both  pastor  and  people 
— and  from  that  uncertain  beginning,  in  spite 
of  the  swelling  tides  of  alien  populations,  and 


72  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

the  swiftly  shifting  conditions  of  New  York, 
the  church  has  grown,  and  the  preacher  has 
grown  with  it,  until  today  it  is  a  bulwark  of 
righteousness,  a  shrine  of  faith  and  a  throne 
of  power,  in  the  greatest  city  of  America.  If 
Emerson  was  right  when  he  said  that  every 
institution  is  the  lengthened  shadow  of  a  man, 
the  building  at  Fifty-sixth  Street,  with  its  mod¬ 
ern  appointments  and  equipment,  and  still  more 
the  noble  Christian  community,  whose  gra¬ 
cious,  wholesome,  creative  activities  take  so 
many  forms  of  fruitful  service,  is  the  incarna¬ 
tion  of  the  spirit,  personality  and  constructive 
vision  of  its  minister.  Such  a  ministry,  so 
wisely  and  quietly  wrought,  rich  in  insight  and 
enterprise,  deserves  to  be  celebrated  with  grati¬ 
tude  and  joy  by  the  whole  church  of  every 
name. 

The  New  York  papers  are  wont  to  describe 
Dr.  Jefferson  as  stern,  cold,  unbending,  an  old- 
time  Puritan  pastor  in  whose  thought  modern¬ 
ism  has  no  place,  and  whose  methods  are  as 
masterful  as  his  personality.  It  is  a  strange 
caricature,  as  alien  to  the  spirit  of  the  preacher 
as  it  is  unlike  the  Puritans  whose  history  he 
knows  as  few  others.  He  does  embody  the 


Charles  E.  Jefferson  73 

heroic  Puritan  tradition,  and  if  there  is  any¬ 
place  on  earth  where  such  a  minister  is  needed 
more  than  another,  it  is  in  our  gay  and  giddy- 
paced  metropolis,  in  the  garish  glitter  of 
Broadway.  They  err  who  think  him  stern, 
cold,  or  unbending;  though,  as  he  sits  in  the 
pulpit,  his  appearance  does  give  one  an  impres¬ 
sion  of  firmness,  if  not  of  austerity.  But  as  he 
begins  to  speak  his  rugged  face  is  illumined 
by  an  inner  brightness,  and  one  discovers  that 
it  is  the  firmness  of  strength,  of  poise,  of  seren¬ 
ity,  suffused  by  a  great  gentleness,  and  touched 
by  that  elusive  magnetic  quality  so  impossible 
to  define.  On  that  long-gone  Sunday  morning 
the  Tabernacle  was  full,  the  men  outnumber¬ 
ing  the  women— young  men,  especially,  to 
whom  the  preacher  is  so  attractive.  If,  as 
Delsarte  once  said,  “mediocrity  is  not  the  too 
little,  but  the  too  much,”  Dr.  Jefferson  is  a 
genius  in  the  conduct  of  public  worship.  The 
service  was  simple,  natural,  satisfying,  rich 
without  being  ornate,  reverent  without  being 
formal ;  and  it  did  what  every  service  of  social 
worship  is  intended  to  do.  It  welded  an  audi¬ 
ence  into  a  congregation,  wooing  us  out  of  our 


74  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

lonely  isolation  into  liberty  and  joy  of  fellow¬ 
ship. 

The  sermon  had  to  do  with  the  atonement, 
and  I  felt  a  sense  of  dismay  when  he  announced 
the  theme,  expecting  a  dull  time  with  an  old 
theological  riddle.  Having  used  the  word  once 
or  twice,  he  threw  it  aside,  because  of  the  unre¬ 
alities  associated  with  it,  using,  instead,  the 
word  “reconciliation,”  which  is  nearer  to  the 
experience  of  the  New  Testament.  As  a 
thinker  it  was  plain  that  he  stood  in  the  tradi¬ 
tion  of  Clement  of  Alexandria,  and,  later, 
of  Schleiermacher,  Maurice,  Wordsworth,  and 
Coleridge,  to  whom  the  incarnation  was  “the 
climax  of  immanence  in  the  world,”  and  the 
atonement  an  age-long  process  in  which  God 
is  ever  present  and  all-suffering.  The  old  ideas 
of  the  atonement,  he  said,  were  either  artificial, 
mechanical,  or  theatrical.  The  idea  of  God 
underlying  them  was  not  only  inadequate,  but 
false.  Henceforth  we  must  think  in  terms  of 
fatherhood,  drawing  our  analogies  not  from 
the  courthouse  and  the  counting-room,  but 
from  the  deepest,  holiest  realities  of  life,, 
Quite  frankly  the  preacher  gave  us  more  than 
one  glimpse  of  the  struggle  in  his  own  heart  in 


Charles  E.  Jefferson  75 

days  agone,  and  how  he  rebelled  against  the 
old  dogma:  “I  would  not  accept  it.  I  became 
an  infidel.  No  man  can  accept  a  doctrine  that 
darkens  his  moral  sense.  I  wonder  in  telling 
this  if  I  have  not  spoken  the  experience  of  many 
of  you  this  morning.”  Indeed,  yes.  Some  of 
us  knew  every  footprint  along  that  dark  path, 
and  the  bitter  agony  of  the  way.  He  told  how 
a  minister,  who  had  outgrown  the  old  dogmas, 
led  him  to  see  a  clearer  vision  which  set  his 
heart  singing.  No  doubt  it  was  Phillips 
Brooks,  under  whose  spell  he  fell  as  a  young 
man,  and  by  whom  he  was  won  from  the  law 
to  the  ministry.  What  a  lawyer  he  would  have 
made,  with  his  clear  incisive  intellect,  his 
scrupulous  precision  as  a  workman,  and  his 
gift  of  quiet,  persuasive  eloquence!  Another 
bit  of  self-revelation  came  in  his  reply  to  those 
who  say  that,  if  God  carries  the  wound  of  the 
world  in  his  heart,  He  cannot  be  happy:  “Of 
course  he  cannot  be  happy.  Children  are 
happy,  grown  people  never  are.  After  we  have 
passed  over  the  days  of  childhood,  there  is 
happiness  no  longer.  Some  of  us  have  lived 
too  long  and  borne  too  much  ever  to  be  happy 
any  more.”  An  undertone  of  pathos,  far 


76  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

enough  from  pessimism — as  of  one  whom  the 
years  has  taken  below  the  surface  of  things, 
some  way  down  into  the  mystery  and  sorrow 
of  life— made  itself  heard  all  through  the  ser¬ 
mon,  if  the  ear  that  listened  was  sensitive.  It 
was  real  preaching,  what  the  English  call 
“preaching  of  the  centre,”  heart  speaking  to 
heart  in  words  so  simple  that  one  felt  the  im¬ 
pact  of  reality.  Somehow  it  recalled  a  passage 
in  one  of  his  lectures  in  which  he  tells  what  a 
sermon  costs,  and  how  the  preacher  must  live 
the  word  of  God  before  he  preaches  it : 

A  sermon  is  not  a  manufactured  product,  but 
a  spiritual  creation.  It  is  not  a  machine  which 
a  man  can  construct  in  his  sermonic  shop,  and 
set  running  in  the  pulpit  like  the  electric  toys 
which  one  sees  sometimes  on  the  corner  of  the 
city  street.  A  sermon  is  an  exhalation,  a  spir¬ 
itual  vapor  emerging  from  the  oceanic  depths 
of  the  preacher's  soul.  It  is  an  emanation,  an 
efflux,  an  effluence  flowing  from  an  interior 
fountain  hidden  in  the  depths  of  personality. 
It  is  an  efflorescence,  an  outflowing  of  beautiful 
things  whose  home  is  in  the  blood.  It  is  a  per¬ 
fume  from  spiritual  roses  blooming  in  the  gar¬ 
den  of  the  heart.  It  is  a  fruit  growing  on  the 
tree  of  a  man's  life.  “A  good  tree  cannot  bring 
forth  evil  fruit,  neither  can  a  corrupt  tree 
bring  forth  good  fruit.”  Make  the  tree  good. 


Charles  E.  Jefferson  77 

A  sermon  is  the  life-blood  of  a  Christian  spirit. 
A  preacher  dies  in  the  act  of  preaching.  He 
lays  down  his  life  for  his  brethren.  He  saves 
others,  himself  he  cannot  save.  The  pulpit  is 
a  Golgotha  in  which  the  preacher  gives  his  life 
for  the  life  of  the  world.  Preaching  is  a  great 
work.  To  do  it  as  God  wants  it  done,  the 
preacher  must  be  a  good  man,  full  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  and  of  faith.2 

There  are  those  who  hold  that  oratory  al¬ 
ways  moves  on  a  more  or  less  low  moral  plane, 
and  is  an  exercise  perilous  alike  to  the  soul  of 
speaker  and  hearer.  Froude,  who  could  not  do 
away  with  eloquence,  thought  it  nearly  always 
misleading,  if  not  dishonest;  and  Montaigne 
was  of  a  similar  opinion.  Meredith  has  an 
epigram  sufficiently  light,  to  the  effect  that 
oratory  “is  always  the  more  impressive  for  the 
spice  of  temper  which  renders  it  untrust¬ 
worthy.”  3  Dr.  Jefferson  shares  this  distrust 
of  oratory— he  so  fears  unreality — and  that, 
too,  in  spite  of  his  amazing  gift  of  lucid,  fitly 
coloured,  gracious  and  moving  speech.  He 
knows  how  easily  an  orator  is  betrayed  into  say¬ 
ing  more  than  he  sees,  mistaking  ornament  for 

3  The  Building  of  the  Church,  Lecture  VIII. 

3  Diana  of  the  Crossways,  Chap.  i. 


78  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

insight ;  a  peril  which,  if  unchecked,  eats  away 
the  moral  fibre  of  a  man.  He  knows  that  if  a 
man  sets  out  to  be  eloquent,  using  oratorical 
tricks,  stratagems  and  pyrotechnics,  he  bids 
good-bye  to  truth  and  sincerity.  One  of  his 
sayings  ought  to  be  written  in  the  mind  of  every 
young  minister:  “Never  endeavour  to  be  elo¬ 
quent.  It  may  be  that  God  will  let  you  be 
eloquent  half  a  dozen  times  in  your  life,  but 
I  am  sure  you  cannot  be  eloquent  if  you  try  to 
be.”  All  of  which  bespeaks  the  austere  integ¬ 
rity  of  the  man,  his  veracity  of  soul  in  dealing 
with  the  truth,  and  with  the  people.  For  no 
one  has  a  more  vivid  sense  of  the  potent,  far- 
reaching  influence  of  true  Christian  speech, 
whose  word  is  also  a  deed,  and  of  which  he  is 
one  of  the  noblest  masters  among  us. 

Style,  he  once  said,  is  perfect  when  it  be¬ 
comes  invisible;  and  that  exactly  describes  his 
own  style.  It  puts  on  no  airs,  knows  no  frills, 
and  attracts  no  attention  to  itself.  It  fits  his 
thought  as  tightly  as  the  skin  fits  the  flesh. 
There  is  not  a  wrinkle,  and  it  is  so  natural  and 
true  that  unless  you  sit  before  it  as  a  critic  and 
pay  close  attention,  you  will  not  see  it  at  alb 
Simple,  sinewy,  flexible,  it  can  preach  a  ser- 


Charles  E.  Jefferson  79 

man,  write  an  essay,  or  tell  a  lovely  Christmas 
story,  with  equal  grace  and  ease.  The  style  of 
a  preacher  is  conditioned,  of  course,  by  his 
mental  quality  and  the  fashion  of  his  spoken 
address.  Thus,  the  stately,  sweeping  periods 
of  Gunsaulus  were  suited  to  the  uses  of  his 
voice;  that  magnificent  organ  whose  rich  and 
manifold  music  follows  us  down  the  years.  In 
like  manner,  the  diction  of  Dr.  Jefferson  is 
admirably  attuned  to  the  character  of  his  de¬ 
livery,  which  is  clear,  gentle,  melodious  and  of 
varied  modulation.  He  is  sparing  of  gesture; 
his  sentences  are  short ;  his  language  is  rich  in 
colour,  but  its  beauty  is  inwrought  rather  than 
decorative.  His  sermons  are  not  read,  but 
spoken,  and  that  with  an  air  of  the  utmost  ease 
and  spontaneity — like  a  teacher  telling  a  tale, 
like  a  friend  persuading  you  of  a  high  matter. 
There  is  passion  in  his  discourse,  but  it  is  not 
of  a  kind  that  resembles  a  torrent  of  fire. 
Rather,  as  was  said  of  John  Ker — whom  he 
resembles  in  many  ways — it  is  like  “a  warm 
radiance  shining  through  the  windows  of  a 
home  where  strong  conviction  and  quiet  faith 
dwell  at  peace  with  understanding  and  hope 
and  acquaintance  with  grief.”  He  does  not 


80  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

seek  to  take  the  mind  of  an  audience  by  vio¬ 
lence  or  to  carry  it  away  on  an  impetuous  tide 
of  words.  His  way  is  rather  to  win  his  hear¬ 
ers,  taking*  them  captive  unawares,  showing 
them  the  beauty  of  the  gospel  and  the  meaning 
of  their  lives,  seeking  to  lead  them  into  the  free¬ 
dom  and  service  of  the  Master. 

An  English  writer  has  recently  said  that  one 
grave  fault  of  the  pulpit  of  our  day,  and  espe¬ 
cially  in  America,  is  what  he  picturesquely 
calls  “suburban  preaching.” 4  By  suburban 
preaching  he  does  not  mean  preaching  to  peo¬ 
ple  who  live  in  the  suburbs,  but  preaching 
which  makes  its  home  on  the  fringes  and  out¬ 
skirts  of  Christian  truth,  rather  than  in  the 
centre  and  the  citadel ;  preaching  that  has 
much  to  say  about  the  minor  moralities,  and  the 
passing  events  of  the  day,  but  very  little  about 
the  great  themes  of  the  gospel.  If,  the  writer 
adds,  preachers  like  Wesley,  Newman,  Dale, 
Spurgeon  and  Liddon  have  one  common  word 
to  speak  to  the  pulpit  of  today  it  is  this:  that 
behind  all  great  preaching  there  lies  always  a 
great  gospel  greatly  conceived.  To  that  list  of 
names  he  might  have  added  Jefferson,  whose 

4  Dr.  George  Jackson,  in  The  Manchester  Guardian. 


Charles  E.  Jefferson  8l 

plea  for  doctrinal  preaching — as  in  his  lecture 
on  ‘'The  Place  of  Dogma  in  Preaching” — has 
been  fulfilled,  in  a  crowded  and  versatile  minis¬ 
try,  by  showing  what  such  preaching  should  be. 
Take  any  of  his  volumes,  such  as  Doctrine 
and  Deed  and  The  New  Crusade — which  are 
an  honour  to  the  American  pulpit — and  you 
find  him  dealing  with  the  basic  issues  of  faith, 
both  in  their  profound  significance  for  thought 
and  in  their  practical  meaning  for  life.  His 
volume  entitled  Things  Fundamental  was  a 
series  of  Lenten  sermons,  his  custom  being  to 
devote  that  sacred  season  not  merely  to  pious 
reverie,  but  to  grappling  with  the  great  truths 
which,  like  the  rock  ribs  of  the  earth,  underlie 
and  uphold  the  lives  of  all  Christian  men.  In¬ 
deed,  in  the  first  sermon  I  heard  him  preach 
there  was  a  passage  as  apt  today  as  it  was  well- 
nigh  twenty  years  ago : 

If  Protestantism  today  is  not  doing  what  it 
ought  to  do,  and  is  manifesting  symptoms 
which  are  alarming  to  Christian  leaders,  it  is 
because  she  has  in  these  recent  years  been  en¬ 
gaged  so  largely  in  practical  duties  as  to  forget 
to  drink  inspiration  from  the  great  doctrines 
which  must  forever  furnish  life  and  strength 


82  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

and  hope.  If  you  will  allow  me  to  prophesy 
this  morning  I  predict  that  the  preaching  of  the 
next  fifty  years  will  be  far  more  doctrinal  than 
the  preaching  of  the  last  fifty  years  has  been. 
I  imagine  some  of  you  will  shudder  at  that. 
You  say  you  do  not  like  doctrinal  preaching, 
you  want  preaching  that  is  practical.  Well, 
pray,  what  is  practical  preaching?  ...  If 
you  really  want  practical  preaching,  the  only 
preaching  that  is  deserving  the  name  is  preach¬ 
ing  that  deals  with  the  great  Christian  doc¬ 
trines.  When  people  say  they  do  not  like  doc¬ 
trinal  preaching  they  often  mean  that  they  do 
not  like  preaching  which  belongs  to  the  seven¬ 
teenth  or  sixteenth  centuries.  They  are  not  to 
blame  for  this.  There  is  nothing  that  gets 
stale  so  soon  as  preaching.  We  cannot  live  on 
the  preaching  of  a  by-gone  age.  But  doctrinal 
preaching  need  not  be  antiquated  or  belated,  it 
may  be  fresh,  it  may  be  couched  in  the  language 
in  which  men  were  born.  And  whenever  it 
does  this  there  is  no  preaching  which  is  so 
thrilling  and  uplifting  and  mighty  as  that  which 
deals  with  the  great  fundamental  doctrines.5 

Some  one  has  said  that  any  regular  attend¬ 
ant  at  the  Broadway  Tabernacle  could  pass  an 
examination  on  Christian  teaching,  both  as  to 
its  ruling  ideas  and  their  application  to  the  life 
of  today.  It  is  indeed  true,  as  two  recent  series 

5  Doctrine  and  Deed. 


Charles  E.  Jefferson  83 

of  sermons  may  illustrate.  One  had  to  do  with 
“Work  and  Wages/’  and  dealt  with  economic 
facts  and  forces  in  the  light  of  Christian  truth, 
revealing  an  astonishing  knowledge  of  facts, 
in  a  spirit  as  far  removed  from  an  erratic  radi¬ 
calism  as  from  a  petrified  conservativism., 
Another  series,  which  ran  for  more  than  two 
months,  was  entitled  “How  to  Live,”  and 
showed  how  well  and  wisely  Dr.  Jefferson  ful¬ 
fills  what  the  Catholics  call  the  office  of  Direc¬ 
tion— that  is,  specific  guidance  in  the  details  of 
practical  spiritual  life — which,  next  to  hard 
pastoral  work,  is  one  of  the  greatest  needs  of 
the  Protestant  church.  For  example,  the 
church  tells  men  to  pray,  but  it  does  not  tell 
them  how  to  do  it.  The  physician  must  not 
simply  tell  his  patients  to  be  well,  he  must  tell 
them  how  to  live — how  to  sleep,  what  to  eat, 
and  the  rest.)  The  church  ought  to  do  the  same 
for  the  moral  and  spiritual  life.  There  are 
difficulties  of  course  in  handling  mental  and 
spiritual  hygiene  in  the  pulpit,  but  people  need 
help— definite  instruction — and  if  they  do  not 
find  it  in  the  church,  in  their  need  they  will  go 
elsewhere  to  get  it,  perhaps  to  the  mercenary 
quack  and  the  half-baked  charlatan. 


84  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

Not  alone  as  a  builder  of  faith  and  character, 
but  equally  in  behalf  of  social  justice,  the  fra¬ 
ternity  of  classes  and  the  comity  of  nations, 
Dr.  Jefferson  has  been  a  seer-like  leader.  No 
preacher  in  this  land  has  been  a  more  relent¬ 
less  enemy  of  war,  using  fact,  reason,  satire — 
every  weapon  in  his  bright  armory — to  fight 
the  fiend.  Some  of  his  addresses  are  memo¬ 
rable,  as  when  he  led  a  visitor  from  Mars  upon 
a  tour  of  the  earth,  taking  him  behind  the 
scenes  in  the  parliamentary  assemblies  of  the 
nations,  until,  disgusted  at  the  duplicity  of 
mankind — mouthing  about  peace  and  making 
ready  for  war — to  hide  his  horror  the  Martian 
boarded  a  celestial  express  for  a  saner  planet! 
What  the  world-tragedy  meant  to  Dr.  Jeffer¬ 
son,  both  as  a  fulfilment  of  his  forebodings  and 
a  crucifixion  of  his  ideals,  only  his  brethren 
who  walked  through  the  same  valley  of  shadow 
can  ever  know.  Not  all  the  casualties  of  war 
are  on  the  battlefield;  in  the  hearts  of  Chris¬ 
tian  men  there  is  devastation  and  unspeakable 
woe.  Cast  down  but  not  destroyed,  saddened 
but  not  defeated,  Dr.  Jefferson  sought  to  in¬ 
terpret  the  will  and  truth  of  God  in  the  awful 
exegesis  of  events;  hence  his  volume,  What 


Charles  E.  Jefferson  85 

the  War  has  Taught  Us.  He  has  been  a  tower 
of  strength  in  days  of  rancour  and  reaction, 
and  often  he  alone  found  the  needed  word  for 
the  hour,  as  when,  on  the  Sunday  following 
the  rejection  of  the  Covenant  of  the  League 
of  Nations  by  the  Senate,  he  took  for  his  text 
the  words:  “And  Noah  was  drunk/'  In  a 
fairer,  juster  day  men  will  turn  the  pages  of 
his  prophetic  witness  and  thank  God  for  a  man 
who  was  clear-visioned  under  a  cloudy  sky,  and 
.whose  testimony  for  righteousness,  no  less  than 
his  rebuke  of  evil,  was  uttered  with  gentleness 
of  heart  and  the  dignity  of  a  golden  voice. 

Truly  it  is  a  great  ministry,  worthy  of 
honour  in  all  the  churches,  its  influence  more 
wide-ranging  than  the  minister  himself  knows, 
and  in  ways  no  art  can  trace.  To  his  younger 
brethren — some  of  whom  toil  alone  in  far 
places- — it  is  a  comfort  and  joy  just  to  know 
that  he  is  there,  keeping  the  light  of  God  aglow 
amid  the  glare  of  Broadway.  His  genius  as 
preacher  and  pastor  is  only  equalled  by  his 
wealth  of  friendship,  his  brotherly  kindness, 
his  sagacity  in  counsel,  and  his  leadership  in 
all  Christian  enterprise.  Every  man  of  us 


86  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

knows  that  whoever  else  may  lose  heart,  let  go 
of  faith,  or  lower  the  ideal  of  the  minister  of 
Christ,  that  will  Dr.  Jefferson  never !  In  days 
when  the  church  is  the  target  of  every  kind  of 
calumny,  and  many  fall  away,  he  bids  us  lift 
up  our  hearts,  remembering  the  words  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  how  he  said: 

“I  will  build  my  church.”  He  is  a  work. 
The  church  is  no  little  private  enterprise  of 
ours.  It  is  his.  We  are  colabourers  with  him., 
Critics  rage  and  brilliant  writers  imagine  a 
vain  thing.  Kings  and  rulers  in  divers  realms 
take  counsel  together  and  agree  that  the  glory 
of  the  church  is  departing.  The  Lord  holds 
them  in  derision.  The  church  is  not  obsoles¬ 
cent.  Humanity  has  not  outgrown  it.  Its 
noon  is  not  behind  it.  Its  triumphal  career  has 
only  begun.  We  are  toiling  amid  the  mists  of 
the  early  morning.  It  is  the  rising  sun  that 
smites  our  foreheads,  and  we  cannot  even 
dream  of  the  victory  which  is  to  be.  We  work 
upon  an  enduring  institution.  After  the  flags 
of  republics  and  empires  have  been  blown  to 
tatters  and  the  earth  itself  has  tasted  death,  the 
church  of  Jesus  shall  stand  forth  glorious,  free 
from  blemish  and  mark  of  decay,  the  gates  of 
Hades  shall  not  prevail  against  it.  Therefore, 
my  beloved  brethren,  in  these  confused  and 
confusing  days,  be  steadfast,  immovable  in  the 


Charles  E.  Jefferson  87 

presence  of  the  world's  clamour  and  rancour, 
always  building  your  life  and  the  lives  of  as 
many  as  God  entrusts  to  your  keeping,  into  the 
church  of  the  Lord,  for  as  much  as  you  know 
that  such  labour  is  not  in  vain  in  the  Lord. 


V:  W.  E.  Orchard 

“I  tell  you  what  it  is.  That  parson  is  city- 
bred,  a  town  man  down  to  the  roots  of  him.  If 
he'd  got  the  sea  and  the  hills  in  his  soul,  or  the 
great  wide  spaces,  and  if  he  heard  the  cry  of 
the  wind  above  the  rattle  of  your  beastly  old 
streets,  he'd  not  say  much  about  the  things  that 
seem  big  to  him  now,  and  he’d  not  know  how 
to  say  enough  about  some  things  he  gets  rid 
of  in  five  minutes!" 

After  such  manner  a  man  from  the  far  Back 
Bush  of  Australia,  who  had  lived  in  the  great, 
lonely  silences  until  he  had  been  stripped  of  all 
conventionality,  but  confirmed  in  the  worship 
and  fear  of  God,  spoke  of  Dr.  Orchard  in  his 
Enfield  days.  The  man  from  the  Bush  never 
went  to  church — did  not  care  a  hang  about  it, 
he  said — and  at  first  he  was  shocked  by  the 
sermon,  as  no  anaemic  sermon-taster  knows 
how  to  be  shocked.  But  he  soon  realised  the 
profound  reverence  and  sincerity  of  the 

preacher,  despite  a  seeming  flippancy  and  a 

88 


W.  E.  Orchard  89 

love  of  shocking  people,  from  which  he  has 
never  recovered.  There  was  a  point  in  the 
thrust;  but  it  is  also  true  that  if  Dr.  Orchard 
had  the  wave  in  his  heart  and  the  cry  of  the 
wind  in  his  soul,  he  would  have  less  to  give  the 
restless,  nervous,  jostled  city  folk  to  whom  he 
ministers,  and  which  makes  him  easily  the 
most  picturesque  and  outstanding  figure  in  the 
Free  Church  pulpit  of  London. 

In  the  stormy  days  of  the  New  Theology 
discussion,  hardly  an  echo  of  which  remains, 
Dr.  Orchard  stood  with  R.  J.  Campbell,  albeit 
with  an  accent,  emphasis  and  point  of  view  all 
his  own.  By  virtue  alike  of  temperament  and 
experience  both  were  wandering  stars,  each  in 
his  own  orbit,  but  Orchard  was  the  abler  of  the 
two,  having  a  more  incisive  intellect  as  well  as 
a  finer  literary  quality.  His  early  thesis  upon 
Modern  Theories  of  Sin  revealed  a  man  with 
whom  to  reckon,  at  once  provocative  and  pro¬ 
voking  in  thought,  as  fearless  in  criticism  as 
he  was  fruitful  in  constructive  insight.  Many 
still  think  that  some  of  the  best  work  he  has 
ever  done  was  as  confidant  and  counsellor  of 
souls  astray,  torn  between  sorrow  and  revolt, 
whereof  we  read  in  Problems  and  Per pie xi- 


90  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

ties — one  of  the  best  books  of  its  kind  ever 
written.  Indeed,  he  is  reported  to  have  said 
that  it  was  in  dealing  with  the  difficulties  of 
others  that  he  discovered  the  inadequacy,  if 
not  bankruptcy,  of  the  New  Theology,  and  a 
need  for  something  deeper,  more  drastic,  more 
real.  Hence  his  “trek  back  to  Christ/'  as  he 
described  it,  wherein  he  abandoned  the  position 
then  held,  or  rather  went  beyond  it  towards  a 
Free  Catholicism.  The  closing  pages  of  the 
little  book  gave  a  hint  of  this  tendency : 

The  true  Church  is  that  organism  which  con¬ 
tinues  the  ministry  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  is  the 
body  of  God's  increasing  incarnation.  At  pres¬ 
ent  no  organisation  can  be  identified  with  that 
organism.  .  .  .  But  it  does  follow  that  the 
present  institution  can  never  become  the 
church  of  God.  It  will  probably  grow  worse 
before  it  grows  better.  It  will  have  to  face 
reform  or  extinction.  ...  It  is  impossible  to 
predict  the  character  of  the  next  generation. 
But  there  will  probably  be  a  change  in  the  very 
idea  of  the  church,  and  it  is  more  than  likely 
that  the  conflicting  ideals  of  Catholicism  and 
Protestantism  will  disappear  and  give  rise  to 
a  fresh  synthesis.  .  .  .  The  church  will  then 
be  truly  catholic,  for  it  will  embrace  every  type: 
lowly,  like  the  Lord,  the  servant  rather  than 
the  mistress,  the  learner  even  more  than  the 


W.  E.  Orchard 


91 

teacher.:  Surely  all  within  the  church  must 
hear  the  warning  sounds.  They  come  not  from 
the  defiant  world ;  the  world  heeds  us  not ;  nor 
from  some  scornful  ambassador  of  the  gates  of 
hell.  That  sound  is  the  church’s  Lord,  knock¬ 
ing,  without! 

Even  in  his  liberal  days  Dr.  Orchard  was  a 
liberalist  with  a  difference;  as  far  removed 
from  an  arid  rationalism  as  from  the  dilettante 
whose  theology  is  a  confection  of  rose-water 
sentiment.  For  him  Christianity  was  dyna¬ 
mite,  not  jam,  a  stroke  of  lightning,  not  a  stick 
of  candy.  He  held  that  liberalism  meant  that 
a  man  was  free  to  be  a  Christian,  not  that  he 
holds  his  Christianity  lightly  or  loosely ;  that  he 
has  the  same  charity  toward  the  past  as  toward 
the  future,  and  is  as  willing  to  listen  to  St. 
Bernard  as  to  Henri  Bergson.  Otherwise,  he 
said,  our  boasted  liberalism  is  only  sound  and 
bluster,  signifying  nothing  more  than  narrow¬ 
ness  and  vanity.  He  thought  the  liberal  pulpit 
rejected  certain  dogmas  about  Christ,  because 
it  wanted  Christ  himself  brought  nearer  to  us — 
with  the  demand  which  he  knew  would  plague 
him  with  an  unsatisfied  passion  to  be  more 
like  Him.  He  imagined  that  liberals  were  dis- 


92  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

contented  with  the  dogmas  of  atonement  and 
salvation  because  they  were  against  an  easy 
gospel — that  is,  they  were  willing  to  stand 
naked  before  the  Awful  Holiness,  seeking 
“purity  rather  than  peace,”  as  Newman  made 
his  motto.  In  short,  if  he  was  anxious  for 
religion  to  be  liberal,  he  was  far  more  con¬ 
cerned  that  liberalism  should  be  religious  in  a 
radical,  creative,  deep-going  fashion,  issuing 
in  heroic  moral  action.  As  a  result  he  found 
himself  an  orthodox  heretic  among  liberals  and 
a  liberal  heretic  among  the  orthodox ;  and  that 
is  where  he  stands  today. 

No  matter;  it  is  far  more  important  to  un¬ 
derstand  Dr.  Orchard  and  his  message  than  it 
is  to  try  to  classify  him  in  one  category  or 
another,  much  less  to  paste  a  label  on  his  cas¬ 
sock.  At  the  King's  Weigh  House  in  London, 
as  in  his  earlier  ministry  in  Enfield,  he  attracts 
an  eclectic  audience  from  all  over  the  city, 
drawn  equally  by  his  shattering  criticisms  of 
the  older  views  of  theology  and  the  positive 
message  which  no  utterance  of  his  ever  lacks — 
but  still  more  by  a  grace  of  personality  and  an 
authentic  spiritual  genius  which  mark  him  as 
a  God-illumined  preacher.  Not  a  few  insist 


W.  E.  Orchard  93 

that  the  rarest  power  of  Dr.  Orchard  is  his 
gift  of  prayer,  as  revealed  in  his  golden  little 
book,  The  Temple ,  which  has  done  so  much 
to  help  men  of  the  modern  mind  to  walk  once 
more  the  quiet  way  to  the  Place  of  Hear¬ 
ing.  Brief,  tender,  wistful,  heart-probing,  its 
prayers  are  like  those  paving  stones  one  finds 
in  unexpected  places  on  the  Yorkshire  moors, 
marking  a  broken  and  half-forgotten  path  over 
the  heather  toward  an  ancient  shrine  of  faith, 
Whitby  Abbey,  uplifted  on  its  stately  headland 
above  the  northern  sea.  It  is  a  modern  devo¬ 
tional  classic,  the  like  of  which  it  would  be  hard 
to  name,  unless  it  be  Spoken  Words  of  Prayer 
and  Praise ,  by  Tipple,  whose  prayers  are 
lyrics  of  the  love  of  God  and  the  beauty  of  his 
world,  sun-bright  and  attuned  to  the  songs  of 
birds,  albeit  not  lacking  in  sympathy  for  the 
struggle  and  tragedy  of  life.  In  my  London 
Diary  I  find  the  following  memory  of  my  first 
service  at  the  King's  Weigh  House,  the  Sunday 
evening  before  I  returned  to  my  work  at  the 
City  Temple  in  1917: 

May  12th: — Went  to  King's  Weigh  House 
Church  today — made  famous  by  Dr.  Binney — 
and  heard  W.  E.  Orchard  preach.  He  is  an 


94  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

extraordinary  preacher,  of  vital  mind,  of  au¬ 
thentic  insight,  of  challenging  personality. 
From  an  advanced  liberal  position  he  has 
swung  toward  the  Free  Catholicism,  and  by 
an  elaborate  use  of  symbols  is  seeking  to  lead 
men  by  the  sacramental  approach  to  the  mysti¬ 
cal  experience  and  the  social  expression  of 
religion.  Some  attend  for  the  service,  some 
for  the  sermon,  and  together  they  make  an 
influential  following.  The  sermon  had  to  do 
with  the  vision  of  Isaiah  in  the  temple — a 
favorite  theme  in  these  days  when  so  many 
things  are  shaken — and  seldom  have  I  heard  a 
preacher  more  searching,  more  aglow  with  the 
divine  passion.  He  does  not  simply  kindle  the 
imagination ;  he  gives  one  a  vivid  sense  of  real¬ 
ity.  He  has  a  dangerous  gift  of  humour,  which 
sometimes  sharpens  into  satire,  but  he  uses  it 
as  a  whip  of  cords  to  drive  sham  and  unreality 
out  of  the  temple.  He  said  that  preaching  in 
our  day  is  bad,  and  that  in  the  Anglican  church 
“it  is  really  worse  than  necessary !”  Much  ado 
is  now  made  about  reordination,  and  he 
thought  that  it  is  not  enough  for  the  bishop  to 
lay  his  hands  on  a  preacher;  the  servant-girl 
and  the  tram-driver  ought  also  to  add  their  con¬ 
secration.  With  the  lift  of  God  in  his  face  he 
cried:  “You  need  Christ,  and  I  can  give  him 
to  you !”  Surely  that  is  the  ultimate  grace  and 
glory  of  the  pulpit — the  living  Christ  mediated 
to  men.  It  recalled  the  oft  repeated  record  in 
the  Journal  of  Wesley,  in  respect  of  the  com- 


W.  E.  Orchard 


95 

panies  to  whom  he  preached:  “I  gave  them 
Christ.”  It  was  more  than  an  offer;  it  was  a 
sacrament  of  communication. 

Such  an  entry  gives  no  details  of  the  picture, 
no  account  of  the  service  with  its  strange  blend 
of  medievalism  and  modernity,  no  description 
of  the  man  wdio  is  the  most  impelling  preacher 
in  London,  as  he  is  often  the  most  perplexing 
and  irritating.  A  tiny  wisp  of  a  man,  with 
tow  hair  and  searching  blue  eyes,  if  in  the  pul¬ 
pit  he  looks  like  an  ascetic,  in  private  he  is  the 
most  joyous  of  comrades  and  the  best  story 
teller  in  England.  At  first  the  service,  with  its 
quick  changes  of  artistic  vestments,  suggests 
a  kindergarten  parade  of  ecclesiastical  milli¬ 
nery — in  which  Leviticus  is  substituted  for 
Galatians,  and  the  crucifix  for  the  cross — until 
one  has  read  his  remarkable  sermon  on 
“Colour  in  Religion,”  and  knows  what  he  means 
by  it.  Behind  him  in  the  pulpit  hangs  a  cruci¬ 
fix,  and  he  often  seems  to  appeal  to  it  beseech¬ 
ing  the  Master  to  speak  through  him  the  living 
word.  For  sheer  intellectual  power,  for  keen¬ 
ness  of  spiritual  insight — its  authority  marred, 
at  times,  by  priestly  assumption — he  is  as 
unique  in  his  appeal  as  he  is  inimitable  in  his 


g6  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

oratory.  His  brilliant  asides,  swift  and  sharp 
as  a  rapier-thrust,  with  enough  slang  in  them 
to  make  them  spicy,  would  not  survive  revision 
in  print,  but  they  are  tellingly  effective.  When, 
however,  we  get  beyond  his  humour,  his  satire, 
his  gadfly  criticism — which  entitle  him  to  be 
called  the  Bernard  Shaw  of  Nonconformity — 
we  find  ourselves  face  to  face  with  something 
that  grips  and  pierces,  and  will  not  let  us  go. 
It  is  not  of  the  intellect  merely;  it  is  a  passion 
for  souls  which  softens  the  sharpest  edges  of 
his  thought  and  irradiates  even  his  most  cut¬ 
ting  sarcasm.  As  another  has  written  with 
true  insight: 

At  the  heart  of  his  theology  is  a  Christ  who, 
feeling  the  urgency  of  the  divine  will  upon  him, 
and  yielding  himself  up  with  the  utmost  single¬ 
ness  of  purpose  and  the  most  complete  self- 
abandonment  to  the  impulse  of  Saviourhood 
latent  in  every  man,  obtained  that  “Name  that 
is  above  every  name/’  whereby  all  men  must 
be  saved.  Suddenly  a  note  of  passion  creeps 
into  the  clear,  sympathetic  voice,  bringing  us 
up  against  something  really  great  and  search¬ 
ing,  and  all  the  minor  irritations  are  forgot¬ 
ten.  Suddenly  the  preacher  grips  reality  with 
naked  hands  and  all  side  issues  sink  below  the 
surface.  He  is  speaking  of  the  reality  of  the 


W.  E.  Orchard  97 

soul,  of  sin,  of  the  human  will,  of  God,  of 
Christ.  Terrible  in  some  moods  is  his  unspar¬ 
ing  surrender  to  truth,  his  incorruptible  atti¬ 
tude  towards  reality.  He  refuses  to  eat  the 
bread  of  compromise,  spurns  all  cheap  pragma¬ 
tisms,  scorns  to  debase  religion  into  a  mere 
means  of  human  happiness.  He  does  not  pal¬ 
ter  with  the  irony,  the  exactions,  the  crushing 
sternness  of  the  love  of  God ;  he  does  not  trick 
himself  or  others  into  believing  that  Jesus  can 
be  loved  with  immunity.  His  Christ  is  the 
Christ  whose  words  fling  fire  on  the  earth, 
whose  touch  leaves  wounds,  whose  cross  shat¬ 
ters  our  little  providential  theories  and  tempts 
us  to  cry  out  in  our  passionate  hours  that  it  is 
a  cruel  and  bitter  thing  to  be  loved  of  God. 
Men  who  have  so  learnt  Christ  have  a  Herod- 
sword  within  their  hearts,  and  by  an  inalien¬ 
able  birthright  belong  to  the  spiritual  aristoc¬ 
racy.  If  such  a  man  is  a  preacher,  especially 
if  he  is  a  born  preacher  like  Dr.  Orchard,  he 
will  fling  fire  among  men  and  live  to  see  it 
kindle.1 

From  the  first  day  of  the  Great  War  to  the 
last,  Dr.  Orchard  stood  in  his  pulpit  and 
pointed  to  the  crucifix,  at  once  a  prophet  of 
indignation  and  a  priest  of  pity.  He  preached 
no  interim  ethics.  If  he  was  called  a  pacifist 
it  did  not  matter ;  he  refused  to  lower  the  Chris- 

1  Voices  of  Today,  by  Hugh  Sinclair. 


98  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

tian  ideal  an  inch.  Insistently,  consistently, 
with  passionate  and  surrendering  conviction 
he  bore  magnificent  and  ceaseless  witness 
against  all  war.  His  criticism  was  merci¬ 
less,  his  sarcasm  withering,  and  he  spared  no 
one  however  high  in  office.  Through  it  all  one 
felt  an  infinite  heartache,  as  of  one  who  was 
himself  crucified  by  the  agony  of  it  all.  Re¬ 
turning  one  day  from  Scotland,  in  a  railway 
carriage,  I  heard  one  British  officer  say  to 
another:  “X  say,  old  chap,  it’s  a  beastly  busi¬ 
ness,  this  war.  It  tears  me  in  two.  Over  here 
we  sing  Peace  on  Earth,  and  out  there  the  kill¬ 
ing  of  boys  goes  on.  When  I  get  so  fed  up  I 
can't  stand  it  any  longer,  I  go  to  a  little  chapel 
in  Duke  Street,  where  a  chap  named  Orchard 
blows  the  whole  blooming  business  up.  All  I 
can  do  is  to  swear,  but  he  gets  it  said.  It's  rip¬ 
ping  to  hear  him  do  it."  Had  Dr.  Orchard 
exercised  such  a  ministry  in  New  York,  no 
doubt  he  would  have  landed  in  jail,  so  much 
greater  is  the  freedom  enjoyed  in  England. 
In  my  diary  are  a  number  of  entries  about  him 
and  I  venture  to  transcribe  another: 

May  10th,  1918: — What  the  Free  Catholi¬ 
cism  may  turn  out  to  be  remains  to  be  disclosed : 


W.  E.  Orchard  99 

so  far  it  is  more  clever  and  critical  than  con¬ 
structive.  W.  E.  Orchard  is  its  Bernard  Shaw, 
and  W.  G.  Peck  its  Chesterton.  At  first  it  was 
thought  to  be  only  a  protest  against  the  ungra¬ 
cious  barrenness  of  Nonconformist  worship,  in 
behalf  of  rhythm,  colour,  and  symbolism.  But 
it  is  more  than  that.  It  seeks  to  unite  personal 
religious  experience  with  its  corporate  and  sym¬ 
bolical  expression,  thus  joining  two  things 
hitherto  held  apart.  As  between  Anglicans 
and  Nonconformists  it  discovers  the  higher 
unity  of  things  which  do  not  differ,  and  that  is 
a  distinct  advance.  For,  if  we  are  ever  to  have 
Christian  union,  it  must  be  by  comprehension, 
not  by  compromise.  It  ought  to  be  possible  for 
those  who  emphasize  individual  experience  of 
religious  reality  to  unite  with  those  who  seek 
the  corporate  fellowship  of  believers.  To¬ 
gether  they  may  approach  the  largeness  of 
Christ,  in  whom  there  is  room  for  every  type 
of  experience  and  expression.  Also,  by  inter¬ 
preting  and  extending  the  sacramental  princi¬ 
ple,  and  at  the  same  time  disinfecting  it  of 
magic  and  superstition,  the  Free  Catholicism 
may  give  new  sanction  and  inspiration  to  crea¬ 
tive  social  endeavour.  For  years  it  has  been 
observed  how  many  ultra  High  Churchmen — 
for  example,  Bishop  Gore,  one  of  the  noblest 
characters  in  modern  Christianity — have  been 
leaders  in  the  social  interpretation  and  applica¬ 
tion  of  Christianity.  Perhaps,  at  last,  we  shall 
learn  that  it  was  not  the  church,  but  humanity, 


100  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

with  which  Jesus  identified  himself  when  he 
said,  “This  is  my  body  broken  for  you.”  There 
is  still  further  light  to  break  forth  from  Chris¬ 
tian  truth,  and  let  us  hope  that  the  Free  Ca¬ 
tholicism  will  help  us  to  see  and  follow  it.  The 
great  thing  about  Christianity  is  that  no  one 
can  tell  what  it  will  do  next. 

Perhaps  this  entry  may  help  some  of  those 
who  misunderstand  Dr.  Orchard  to  see  the 
kind  of  Catholicism  of  which  he  is  a  prophet 
and  a  pioneer.  Some  imagine  that  by  Catholi¬ 
cism  he  means  the  Roman  Church,  but  that  is 
neither  free  nor  catholic.  No  one  knows  better 
than  Dr.  Orchard  that  Rome,  as  it  now  is, 
would  crush  him  as  quickly,  as  contemptuously, 
as  she  did  Tyrrell,  and  with  a  tragedy  far  more 
ghastly  than  that  of  Newman.  For  while  he 
has  much  that  reminds  one  of  Newman,  he  is 
a  free  spirit,  and  he  knows  the  way  to  Emmaus 
as  Newman  never  did.  Others  think  that  his 
Catholicism  is  merely  aesthetic  and  temperamen¬ 
tal,  a  sentimental  attachment  to  some  antique 
survival,  like  a  fondness  for  Gothic  architec¬ 
ture  or  a  new  version  of  the  Mass.  Far  from 
it.  He  would,  no  doubt,  restore  much,  if  not 
all,  of  the  old  Catholic  system,  but  without  the 
spirit  of  anathema,  exclusion,  and  compulsion, 


W.  E.  Orchard 


101 


uniting  the  cultus  of  Christianity  with  its 
creed,  and  interpreting  both  in  terms  of  eter¬ 
nal  truth  and  modern  need.  Thus  his  vision  is 
far  wider,  more  comprehensive,  more  revolu¬ 
tionary  than  his  critics  are  aware.  Recently 
he  said:  “Some  of  you  have  been  reassured 
about  me  lately  that  I  am  not  going  over  to 
Rome,  after  all.  I  am  not  so  sure.  I  may! 
But  why  are  you  not  afraid  that  I  may  join  the 
Salvation  Army?  Because  equally  I  may! 
What  I  hate  are  the  middle  ways.” 

No;  the  Free  Catholicism  is  far  more  cath¬ 
olic  than  the  Roman  Church,  and  it  is  freer 
than  the  Free  Churches.  It  is  a  rediscovery 
of  the  comprehensiveness  of  Christianity,  a 
living  experience  of  the  universality  of  Christ, 
as  much  at  home  with  the  Inner  Light  of  the 
Quaker  as  with  the  Real  Presence.  But  it  joins 
depth  with  breadth,  and  finds  in  the  old  Chris¬ 
tian  dogmas  not  metaphysical  abstractions, 
but  dynamic  forces  for  the  creation  of  new  men 
and  a  new  social  order,  linking  mystical  vision 
with  social  passion,  and  freedom  with  fellow¬ 
ship.  One  has  only  to  read  the  sermons  of  Dr. 
Orchard,  who  follows  the  old  elaborate  homi¬ 
letic  method — what  the  English  call  “the  three- 


102  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

deck  sermon” — to  discover  how  profoundly 
radical  the  Free  Catholicism  is  both  as  to  per¬ 
sonal  experience  and  social  regeneration.  For 
the  two  are  inseparable  in  his  thought,  as  wit¬ 
ness  such  sermons  as  “Flow  the  Cross  Recon¬ 
structs  Personality,”  and  “Christian  Dogma 
and  Social  Revolution.”  Here  is  vital  preach¬ 
ing,  as  ancient  as  it  is  modern,  aglow  with 
insight  and  passion  and  prophecy ;  the  voice  of 
one  who  has  the  genius  of  a  pathfinder,  and  the 
courage  to  make  experiments,  knowing  that  as 
of  old  Jesus  “made  as  though  he  would  have 
gone  further,”  so,  today,  he  beckons  us  toward 
his  own  largeness.  In  a  striking  sermon  en¬ 
titled  “The  New  Catholicism,”  he  says: 

This  then  is  the  New  Catholicism.  At  pres¬ 
ent  it  is  no  more  than  a  dream  in  the  hearts 
of  a  few,  rather  misty  and  vague  perhaps,  yet 
able  to  make  every  waking  hour  full  of  unrest 
for  its  realisation.  With  others  it  is  only  a 
dumb  craving  for  they  know  not  what,  a  dis¬ 
content  with  things  as  they  are.  It  has  yet  to 
outline  its  policy  and  fight  its  battles;  and 
before  it  can  conquer,  there  are  prejudices  to 
overcome,  fears  to  dispel,  false  conclusions  to 
disprove.  Yet  it  holds  the  field.  Denomina- 
tionalism  can  no  longer  count  upon  the  old-time 
loyalties.  Neither  Protestantism  nor  Roman- 


W.  E.  Orchard 


103 

ism  can  ever  do  anything  but  stand  over  against 
one  another,  hostile  and  suspicious.  There  can 
be  no  reconciliation  until  they  are  gathered  into 
one  really  Catholic  Church.  .  .  .  Such  hopes 
can  only  be  realised  as  we  get  back  to  the  catho¬ 
licity  of  Christ’s  character  and  teaching.  It  is 
following  names  instead  of  Christ  that  has 
ruined  us  all.  It  is  the  attempt  to  employ 
worldly  power  instead  of  the  wisdom  of  the 
Cross.  It  is  a  false  scholarship  that  has  given 
us  a  divided  Christ.  Only  as  we  discover  the 
One  Catholic  Christ  shall  we  be  able  to  build 
the  One  Catholic  Church. 

If  in  this  appreciation  the  emphasis  has  been 
laid  as  much  upon  the  message  as  upon  the  mes¬ 
senger,  it  is  because  the  Minister  of  the  King’s 
Weigh  House  stands  before  us  a  shining  and 
challenging  figure,  at  once  a  rebuke  and  a 
portent.  With  the  spiritual  radicalism  of  his 
Master,  he  puts  to  scorn  our  comfortable  con¬ 
ventionalism,  our  plausible  expediences,  our 
Pickwickian  endeavours  after  Christian  unity, 
no  less  than  our  compromising  cowardice  in  the 
presence  of  the  organised  brutality  of  modern 
industrial  and  political  life.  When  one  thinks 
of  the  tragedy  of  a  divided,  distracted,  ineffec¬ 
tive  church — a  mere  huddle  of  sects,  each 
clinging  to  its  own  little  dialect — set  over 


104  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

against  the  federated  iniquity  of  the  world,  one 
thanks  God  for  a  prophet-priest  like  Dr. 
Orchard ;  as  much  for  his  teasing  humour,  his 
tormenting  satire,  and  his  tantalising  waspish 
criticism,  as  for  his  radiant  insight  and  elo¬ 
quence.  Let  him  wear  his  gorgeous  vestments 
and  use  the  ancient  symbols  and  litanies  of 
faith,  if  by  any  means  he  can  help  to  bring 
back  the  visions  that  make  the  church  the  sac¬ 
ramental  incarnation  of  Christ.  Frail,  fear¬ 
less,  fascinating,  across  the  tumbling  seas  I 
can  still  see  him  as  he  stood  at  his  high  altar, 
having  poured  out  his  heart  in  protest  against 
the  collective  suicide  of  war,  making  the  ges¬ 
ture  of  the  Cross  in  benediction — as  if  to  point 
us,  in  parable  as  well  as  precept,  to  the  living 
Christ  whose  anointed  messenger  he  is. 


VI:  Charles  D.  Williams 

Can  a  prophet  be  a  bishop?  Can  a  bishop 
be  a  prophet?  What  is  the  function  of  a 
radical  democrat  in  an  old,  aristocratic  institu¬ 
tion?  What  is  the  prophetic  message  for  the 
ministry  of  today  ?  Such  questions  were  in  my 
mind  as  I  mingled  with  the  divinity  students 
at  Yale  when  Bishop  Williams  gave  his  first 
lecture  on  preaching  on  the  Lyman  Beecher 
Foundation.  It  was  an  eager,  expectant  com¬ 
pany,  and  some  seemed  waiting  to  see  a  long¬ 
haired,  wild-eyed  radical  whose  sentences 
would  be  a  series  of  explosions.  The  lecturer, 
except  for  his  clerical  garb,  looked  more  like  a 
clear-cut,  straight-seeing  business  man  than  a 
prophet  of  any  kind ;  but  behind  his  quiet  man¬ 
ner  and  simple  style  one  felt  the  glow  of  a 
divine  fire.  The  genuineness  of  the  man,  his 
earnestness,  his  courage,  his  intellectual  hon¬ 
esty,  his  spiritual  passion  won  the  day.  The 
title  of  the  course,  “The  Prophetic  Ministry  for 

Today,”  was  characteristic  of  a  teacher  to 

105 


106  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

whom  religion  is  a  vision,  but  a  vision  to  be 
worked  out  practically  in  business,  politics,  in¬ 
dustry,  and  legislation,  no  less  than  in  the 
lonely  conflicts  of  the  inner  life. 

Unfortunately,  I  was  able  to  hear  only  the 
first  lecture  in  the  course,  which  was  a  com¬ 
posite  portrait  of  the  Christian  ministry — a 
series  of  dissolving  views  in  which  the  He¬ 
brew  prophet,  the  Hebrew  priest,  the  apostolic 
administrator,  and  the  Greek  sophist  or  rhet¬ 
orician  were  blended.  As  in  every  such  photo¬ 
graph,  one  saw  when  he  had  finished  dim  traces 
of  each  type ;  but  it  was  clear  that  the  lecturer 
thought  the  prophet  faith  and  spirit  ought  to 
be  supreme.  The  priest,  the  executive,  and 
especially  the  rhetorician,  ought  to  be  subordi¬ 
nate,  a  point  which  he  emphasised  with  some 
rather  sharp  words  about  flowery  eloquence. 

Howbeit,  no  man  can  be  a  prophet  fifty-two 
days  in  the  year,  no  matter  how  brightly  the 
fire  burns.  There  are  interludes  of  teaching 
and  administration — what  St.  Paul  called 
“helps  and  governments” — which  often  make 
passages  of  prose  in  the  poetry  of  the  ministry. 
There  is  also  the  danger,  he  said,  that  the  run¬ 
ning  of  wheels  may  finally  run  to  wheels,  and 


Charles  D.  Williams  107 

a  man  meant  to  be  a  prophet  ends  by  being  the 
pastor  of  “The  Church  of  the  Holy  Fuss,” 
where  the  wheels  go  round  but  get  nowhere. 
Once  in  the  lecture  he  gave  us  a  glimpse  of  the 
life  of  a  bishop,  which  made  all  of  us  vow 
never  to  accept  such  an  office — reminding  one 
of  the  words  of  Bishop  Gore  when  he  resigned 
as  Bishop  of  Oxford.  In  the  preface  to  the 
volume  in  which  the  lectures  now  appear  he 
makes  the  glimpse  more  vivid,  confirming  us 
in  our  resolution : 

There  is  no  motto  more  applicable  to  a  mod¬ 
ern  Bishop  than  the  text,  “Gather  up  the 
fragments  that  nothing  be  lost.”  He  is  a  man 
“scattered  and  peeled,”  troubled  about  many 
things,  distracted  with  various  and  often  mutu¬ 
ally  variant  occupations.  He  must  be  a  man 
of  affairs  and  many  affairs.  He  is  expected  to 
fulfil  many  functions.  He  is  primarily  a  busi¬ 
ness  man,  an  administrator  and  executive. 
Particularly  he  is  the  “trouble  man”  of  a  large 
corporation.  All  the  “church  quarrels”  gather 
about  his  devoted  head.  He  has  the  responsi¬ 
bility  for  everything  that  goes  wrong,  often 
without  the  authority  to  set  anything  right. 
He  serves  as  a  lightning  rod  to  carry  off 
the  accumulated  wrath  of  the  ecclesiastical 
heavens.  He  is  constantly  called  on  to  act  as 
judge  and  should  have  a  judicial  temper  ament. 


108  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

He  is  also  a  “travelling  man,”  a  kind  of  eccle¬ 
siastical  “drummer”  or  salesman.  He  is  even 
sometimes  in  demand  as  a  social  ornament  to 
say  grace  at  banquets,  make  after-dinner 
speeches,  adorn  the  stage  at  public  meetings, 
and  administer  to  the  aesthetic  needs  of  conven¬ 
tional  society  at  fashionable  weddings,  bap¬ 
tisms  and  funerals.  In  the  midst  of  it  all  he  is 
expected  to  find  time  and  mind  to  be  a  preacher 
and  teacher,  a  scholar  and  leader,  and  above 
all  a  man  of  prayer  and  a  man  of  God. 

Two  weeks  later  Bishop  Williams  preached 
in  the  Cathedral  of  St.  John  the  Divine — that 
noble  Home  of  the  Soul  slowly  rising  on  the 
cathedral  heights  of  New  York  City,  about 
which  James  Lane  Allen  wove  his  lovely  story, 
The  Cathedral  Singer.  While  waiting  for 
the  service  to  begin  I  found  myself  inquiring 
in  the  sanctuary  in  respect  to  two  matters 
which  weighed  heavily  upon  my  heart.  What 
is  the  function  of  the  cathedral  in  a  democ¬ 
racy?  Can  it  give  our  tangled  modern  world 
a  common  principle,  a  common  passion,  a  com¬ 
mon  idea  as  it  did  the  middle  ages,  when  it 
sent  the  common  man  in  his  multitudes  away 
to  the  crusades?  Today  we  have  no  unifying 
principle  to  hold  the  world  together.  The 


Charles  D.  Williams  109 

nations  seem  to  be  drifting  apart,  and  the 
classes  in  each  are  falling  asunder,  lacking  a 
common  ideal,  a  common  faith,  and  a  common 
hope.  Would  not  a  common  form  of  worship 
— not  so  rigid  as  to  become  a  mere  rote  or  rig¬ 
marole,  but  with  a  common  rhythm,  at  once 
corporate  and  communal,  bringing  art  to  the 
service  of  faith — do  something  to  evoke  a 
sense  of  common  fellowship  and  obligation, 
and  help  to  heal  the  appalling  spiritual  loneli¬ 
ness  and  chaos  in  which  we  find  ourselves?  In 
a  cathedral  all  kinds  and  classes  of  people, 
learned  and  unlearned  alike,  are  touched  by  a 
sense  of  mystery  and  awe  which,  if  only  for  a 
brief  time,  brings  each  into  the  presence  of  a 
Reality  which  makes  all  one  in  their  littleness 
and  longing.  In  the  midst  of  my  reverie  the 
organ  began,  but,  like  the  writer  of  the  73rd 
Psalm,  some  solution  of  my  problem  seemed 
possible  under  that  high  and  hospitable  roof  of 
God. 

It  was  a  notable  occasion,  made  so  by  the 
daring  of  the  preacher,  whose  sermon  quickly 
shattered  my  mediaeval  mood,  by  showing  how 
many  clamorous  questions  from  the  noisy 
world  intrude  into  the  peace  of  a  modern  cathe- 


110  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

drah  The  sermon  provoked  a  heated  discus¬ 
sion  in  the  days  following,  as  much  for  its 
rebuke  of  the  hysteria  and  mob-mindedness  of 
the  moment  when  the  Wilson-phobia  was  at  its 
height,  as  for  its  castigation  of  certain  reac¬ 
tionary  influences  seeking  to  capitalise  an  ugly 
mood  for  their  own  advantage.  America  was 
“seeing  red/’  in  a  mood  of  mingled  anger,  hate 
and  fear,  actually  having  a  cataleptic  fit  of 
terror  at  thought  of  a  few  radicals — like  an 
elephant  frightened  at  a  mouse.  It  required 
some  courage  to  speak  plainly  in  face  of  such  a 
mood,  at  a  time  when  the  pulpit  seemed 
cowed  and  terrorised,  and  anyone  who  dared 
to  dissent  from  the  madness  of  the  hour  was 
branded  as  a  bolshevist,  a  socialist,  an  anar¬ 
chist,  or  some  other  thought-saving  epithet. 
The  bishop  not  only  stood  erect  against  the 
storm,  but  he  spoke  pointedly  about  the  steel 
strike,  the  open-shop  campaign,  and  the  absurd 
intolerance  of  the  moment.  In  particular,  he 
denounced  the  “invisible  government’'  of  the 
privileged  few  which,  he  said,  was  seeking  to 
control  pulpit,  as  well  as  academic  and  legisla¬ 
tive,  utterances.  At  once  there  was  an  uproar, 
and  The  Wall  Street  Journal  asked  exasper- 


Charles  D.  Williams 


1 1 1 


atedly:  “Was  it  the  bolshevists  or  the  business 
men  who  built  and  endowed  the  Cathedral  of 
St.  John  the  Divine?”  The  implication  of  such 
a  question  is  that,  since  Big  Business  builds 
cathedrals,  it  has  the  right  to  dictate  what  is 
preached  in  their  pulpits;  and  that  is  a  fact 
worth  knowing.  The  next  Sunday  the  bishop- 
elect  of  New  York  preached  in  reply,  depre¬ 
cating  the  preaching  of  politics,  as  if  a  sermon 
in  defence  of  the  present  order  is  not  as  much 
“political-preaching”  as  a  sermon  in  criticism 
of  it.  The  matter  was  taken  up  by  the  secular 
and  religious  press  of  the  country,  and  both 
bishops  got  as  many  brick-bats  as  bouquets; 
but  the  issue  was  clearly  drawn. 

The  bishop  of  Michigan  thus  stands  before 
us  as  a  man  who  provokes  controversies,  not 
only  by  virtue  of  the  causes  he  champions,  but 
also  by  the  picturesque  and  pungent  manner  in 
which  he  states  his  message.  He  is  indeed  one 
of  the  outstanding  and  challenging  figures  of 
our  American  Christianity — manly,  brotherly, 
democratic,  fearless,  sincere,  utterly  loyal  to 
his  Master  and  a  lover  of  humanity — and  if  he 
receives  many  floggings  at  the  hands  of  his 


112  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

critics,  he  is  wise  enough  to  adopt  the  philoso¬ 
phy  of  the  old  couplet : 

Sticks  and  stones  will  break  my  bones, 
But  words  will  never  hurt  me. 

Happily  he  has  a  keen  sense  of  humour 
which  serves  as  a  shield  against  the  slings  and 
arrows  of  his  enemies,  the  while  it  makes  him 
a  charming  companion;  as  when,  albeit  a 
single-taxer  himself,  he  describes  how  an 
orator  of  that  sect  fixes  you  with  his  glittering 
eye,  until  he  has  proved  that  his  scheme  is  a 
panacea  for  all  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to, 
“even  the  measles”;  or  when,  in  an  impish 
mood,  he  mimics  the  holy  whine — what  Dick¬ 
ens  called  “the  Heavenly  Father  voice” — with 
which  the  curate  intones  the  service.  It  does 
not  matter  that  he  is  called  a  radical,  a  noto¬ 
riety  seeker,  and  an  inciter  of  unrest;  such 
things  are  a  part  of  a  prophet’s  reward.  The 
chief  fact  about  him  is  his  profound  earnest¬ 
ness,  his  fine  sanity,  and  his  vision  of  the  reli¬ 
gion  of  Jesus  as  practical  fraternal  righteous¬ 
ness.  Yet  even  his  friends  have  misgivings,  at 
times,  as  to  his  methods,  as  witness  these  words 
of  an  able  and  high-minded  journalist — words 


Charles  D.  Williams  113 

the  more  remarkable  when  we  remember  that 
any  working  journalist  sees  enough  of  the 
seamy  side  of  humanity  to  equip  half  a  dozen 
cynics : 

As  a  preacher  the  bishop  is  earnest,  forceful, 
intellectually  honest,  and  tremendously  cour¬ 
ageous,  and  he  marshals  his  facts  well.  Yet, 
somehow,  I  have  always  thought  of  him  as  a 
social,  political  and  economic  leader,  rather 
than  as  a  churchman.  He  has  the  two  fisted 
belligerence  of  the  worldly  advocate,  rather 
than  those  spiritual  refinements  we  are  sup¬ 
posed  to  associate  with  the  pulpit.  Yet  he  may 
be  right,  and  our  laymen’s  point  of  view  all 
wrong,  as  to  what  a  church  leader  should  be., 
I  do  not  know.  He  finds  religion  in  the  city 
streets  and  shops  and  factories ;  it  is  not  some¬ 
thing  to  be  spiritualised  and  saved  up  for  use 
only  on  Sundays.  Whether  his  idea  of  the 
Christian  church  be  right  or  wrong,  he  lives  up 
to  it ;  and  because  of  his  attitude  he  is  beloved 
by  the  labouring  men  of  the  city,  and  is  either 
feared,  simply  disliked,  or  blindly  hated  by 
that  element  in  his  church  which  pays  its  pew 
rent  by  the  year  and  is  eminently  respectable — 
ah,  yes,  respectable  though  the  heavens  fall! 
Being  a  member  of  that  church  I  know  some¬ 
thing  of  their  quaint  philosophy,  and  I  really 
think  that  some  of  them  would  rather  lose  their 
souls  than  the  world’s  respect. 


114  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

Yet,  when  I  hear  the  bishop  in  church,  I 
always  feel  that  I  would  rather  hear  him  as  a 
great  leader  of  worldly  affairs,  on  the  floor  of 
the  United  States  Senate  for  example.  Morally 
and  intellectually  he  holds  me  tight,  but  I  have 
heard  other  men  who  could  stir  me  more 
deeply  spiritually.  Or  should  I  say  emotion¬ 
ally?  No  doubt  this  feeling  is  due  to  genera¬ 
tions  behind  me  who  held,  as  my  father  used 
to  say,  that  the  Episcopal  church  is  a  good  one 
to  belong  to,  because  it  never  interferes  either 
with  politics  or  religion.  On  politics,  economic 
and  social  issues  the  bishop  has  always  been 
consistently  liberal,  sane,  and  sensible — sane, 
of  course,  because  he  agrees  with  me.  From 
time  to  time  radicals  have  tried  to  tie  him  up 
with  their  extreme  proposals,  but  he  has  always 
avoided  them.  Personally  I  think  this  is  his 
field,  unless,  after  all,  it  is  conceded  that  this 
is  the  field  of  the  church.  Either  the  church, 
as  it  is  now  organised,  has  outgrown  its  use¬ 
fulness  and  the  bishop  is  a  pioneer  in  a  new 
order  of  Christianity,  or  the  church  is  right 
and  he  is  wrong.  Certainly  they  do  not  hitch, 
at  least  in  their  philosophic  outlook. 

Some  of  us  would  rejoice  to  see  the  bishop  of 
Michigan  in  the  United  States  Senate — no¬ 
where  is  spiritual  vision  more  needed ;  but  does 
not  the  church  have  need  of  a  robust,  forth¬ 
right,  statesman-like  leadership?  Surely,  if 


Charles  D.  Williams  115 

Christianity  is  to  be  more  practical,  more 
socially-minded,  less  sectarian  and  more  cre¬ 
ative,  and  not  simply  “a  device  to  give  peace  of 
mind  in  the  midst  of  conditions  as  they  are,” 
such  leadership  is  the  first  necessity.  In  short, 
if  Christianity  be  the  realisation  of  God  and 
the  practice  of  brotherhood,  then  Bishop  Wil¬ 
liams  is  both  a  pioneer  and  a  prophet.  Those 
who  say  that  he  is  not  ‘‘spiritual”  mistake 
emotional  pietism  for  spirituality,  as  if  truth, 
justice,  and  brotherhood  were  less  spiritual 
than  the  rhythm  of  a  ritual  or  the  devoutness 
of  Lent !  The  bishop  holds  that  brotherhood — 
by  which  he  means  practical  brotherhood,  not 
a  vague,  dreamy  sentiment — is  not  merely  a 
poetic  gesture  in  the  Gospel  of  Jesus,  but  a 
fundamental  principle ;  and  that  it  is  the  mis¬ 
sion  of  the  church  not  only  to  redeem  indi¬ 
viduals,  but  also  to  help  create  an  environment 
in  which  men  can  live  the  life  of  the  spirit. 
He  thinks  the  salvation  of  the  church  lies  in 
its  becoming  once  more  the  church  of  the  lowly, 
since  it  is  more  important  to  have  small 
churches  of  earnest  men  and  women,  poor  but 
godly,  than  large  churches  housed  in  magnifi¬ 
cent  edifices — if  it  is  necessary  to  temper  the 


li6  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

Gospel  to  the  rich  in  order  to  gain  their 
support. 

Hence  the  cry  of  socialist,  anarchist,  bol- 
shevist,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  new  vocabulary 
of  profanity  now  in  vogue,  like  jazz  music.  In 
olden  times  men  threw  stones  at  their  prophets, 
but  today  they  call  names,  finding  abuse  an 
easy  substitute  for  the  insight  necessary  to 
understand.  The  tragedy  of  our  day  is  that  we 
seem  dead-locked  between  a  narrow,  selfish 
individualism  on  the  one  side  and  a  visionary 
absurdity  on  the  other,  unable  to  find  a  fourth 
dimension.  It  so  happens  that  Bishop  Williams 
is  not  a  Socialist  at  all,  but  a  Christian  teacher 
who  finds  in  the  gospel  of  Christ  a  way  out  of 
the  dilemma.  No  one  knows  better  than  he 
that  property,  if  honestly  come  by,  represents 
moral  values ;  and  for  that  very  reason  it  must 
be  used  in  moral  ways  and  for  moral  ends.  It 
is  not  a  question  of  the  ownership  of  property, 
but  of  its  moral  and  Christian  use,  modified 
by  a  sense  of  the  common  good,  and,  above  all, 
by  a  sense  of  the  sanctity  of  the  human  soul 
as  the  greatest  and  most  precious  of  earthly 
realities.  Therefore  the  bishop  holds  that 
Judge  Gary  has  no  right  to  cling  to  the  twelve- 


Charles  D.  Williams  117 

hour  day  in  the  steel  mills,  because  it  debases 
and  brutalises  human  souls,  destroying  that 
holy  thing  which  Christ  came  to  seek  and  re¬ 
deem.  So  long  as  the  lives  of  men,  women, 
and  little  children  are  ground  up  in  the  machin¬ 
ery  of  industry  in  order  to  make  money, 
he  insists  that  the  church  must  speak  out 
specifically,  emphatically,  insistently,  and  that 
to  be  silent  or  neutral  is  to  betray  the  Master. 
In  regard  to  these  and  other  matters  the  bishop 
has  his  own  way  of  speaking  out,  which  he 
would  hardly  ask,  expect,  or  encourage  all  his 
clergy  to  follow;  and  no  one  can  deny  that  it 
is  effective.  Some  of  his  sayings  are  very 
striking,  and  they  hit  the  mark : 

If  the  Lord  in  desperation — pardon  the 
phrase — should  say,  “I  will  feed  these  down¬ 
trodden,  starving  children  of  mine,”  and  rain 
brown  bread  and  molasses  upon  the  earth,  it 
would  do  nothing  to  help  the  poverty  of  the 
world  under  our  present  system.  It  would 
merely  raise  the  value  of  the  land  where  the 
fall  was  heaviest. 

We  are  soft  and  flabby  because  this  is  a  day 
of  self-indulgence.  If  a  thing  is  agreeable,  we 
do  it.  If  it  is  disagreeable,  we  do  not.  This 
is  the  chief  reason  for  the  divorce  problem. 


n8  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

Homes  are  wrecked,  moral  life  is  undermined, 
children  are  damned  because  “I  was  unhappy.” 

The  habit  of  decision,  of  swift  moral  action 
is  lost.  In  the  business  world,  statutes  are 
broken  and  moral  laws  are  shattered,  because 
“a  man  must  get  ahead.”  Any  principle  is 
sacrificed  rather  than  make  a  failure,  because 
a  failure  is  unpleasant.  We  are  devotees  of 
the  pleasant,  the  agreeable,  the  successful — 
the  slaves  of  comfort.  We  are  morally  short 
of  wind,  worshippers  of  the  god  of  ease;  our 
moral  discrimination  is  blurred. 

My  ancestry  has  been  American  for  two 
hundred  years ;  my  family  has  fought  in  all  the 
wars  of  the  republic.  I  am  not  a  bolshevik, 
parlor  or  otherwise.  I  am  not  a  socialist,  pink 
or  white.  As  far  as  I  can  tell  I  am  a  plain, 
downright  American.  But  I  cannot  stand  this 
stage  brand  of  ioo  per  cent  Americanism  that 
is  up  today.  It  is  not  Americanism.  By  the 
history  of  our  nation,  I  call  it  Prussianism. 

Our  task  is  to  make  an  imperfect  Christian 
civilisation  more  Christian,  but  three  kinds  of 
impossibilists  stand  in  the  way.  One  is  the 
blind  individualist,  the  conventional  Christian, 
who  does  not  see  the  task  at  all.  Another 
is  the  pessimist  who  resorts,  as  pessimists  al¬ 
ways  do,  to  the  apocalyptic  and  eschatological. 
He  is  the  premillenarian.  The  third  is  the 
visionary  idealist,  the  man  with  a  panacea, 
with  complete  specifications  of  the  heavenly 
city  down  to  the  last  brick  in  the  pavement. 


Charles  D.  Williams  119 

There  are  lions  in  the  way.  There  are  diffi¬ 
culties  and  dangers  and  demands  as  you  go 
forth  into  our  prophetic  ministry,  but  these  are 
so  many  challenges  and  opportunities  which 
make  it  the  most  glorious  day  in  which  men 
could  be  called  to  that  ministry.  Marcus  Dodds 
once  said,  “I  do  not  envy  those  who  have  to 
fight  the  battle  of  Christianity  in  the  twentieth 
century.  Yes,  perhaps,  I  do,  but  it  will  be  a 
stiff  fight.”  And  let  me  add,  a  stiff  fight  is 
what  the  true  soldier  of  Christ  loves. 

If  in  this  study  I  have  laid  less  emphasis 
upon  the  teacher  than  upon  his  teaching,  it  is 
because  he  incarnates,  as  much  by  his  office 
as  by  his  insight,  issues  which  will  confront  us 
increasingly  in  the  days  that  lie  ahead.  The 
sum  of  his  teaching,  as  well  as  the  art  which 
he  employs,  may  be  found  in  a  book  of  sermons 
entitled,  A  Valid  Christianity  for  Today , 
which,  by  any  test,  must  be  reckoned  as  one  of 
the  most  virile  and  arresting  volumes  in  the 
literature  of  the  American  pulpit.  Some  of  its 
sermons — such  as  The  Religion  of  Democracy, 
Dives  and  Lazarus,  and  The  Supreme  Value — 
are  of  enduring  worth  and  power ;  they  search 
our  hearts  like  flames  of  fire.  The  mysticism 
of  the  book — for,  as  Phillips  Brooks  said,  mys- 


120  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

ticism  is  the  heart  of  religion,  without  whose 
ever-beating  life  the  hands  of  religion,  which 
do  the  work,  fall  dead — is  social  as  well  as 
individual,  and  less  contemplative  than  active. 
It  is  like  the  pity  in  the  hearts  of  the  medical 
students  at  Edinburgh,  of  which  Dr.  Brown 
wrote  in  a  haunting  passage;  a  pity,  he  said, 
which  finds  expression  not  in  trembling  tears 
and  long-drawn  sighs,  but  in  clearer  insight 
and  a  firmer  and  more  skilful  hand  in  healing 
the  hurts  of  humanity.  It  is  the  vision  of  a 
man  who  sees  that  all  life  is  sacramental,  and 
that  the  Kingdom  of  God  is  a  beloved  com¬ 
munity  of  noble  men  and  women  who  do  noble 
things  together,  making  the  service  of  man  a 
ritual  for  the  worship  of  God. 

Even  those  who  account  themselves  con¬ 
servative — whether  by  nature  or  by  grace — 
must  surely  thank  God  for  the  heroic  ministry 
of  Bishop  Williams,  both  as  prophet  and  states¬ 
man.  If  they  do  not  always  agree  with  his 
teaching  or  method,  they  ought  to  be  ready  to 
fight  for  his  right  to  teach  the  truth  as  God 
gives  him  to  see  it  with  every  art  at  his  com¬ 
mand — a  right  now  challenged  in  his  own 
communion— in  behalf  of  a  complete  and  com- 


Charles  D.  Williams  121 

prehensive  Christian  witness  in  a  sorely  baffled 
world.  St.  James  did  not  preach  like  St.  John, 
nor  did  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  always  agree — 
each  finding  in  the  other  things  hard  to  under¬ 
stand — but  together,  by  a  fraternity  of  insight 
and  experience,  they  expounded  a  profound 
and  many-sided  gospel,  which,  at  last,  will  win 
all  our  various  and  imperfect  tones  into  one 
sovereign  harmony.  This  lesson  is  for  us,  re¬ 
minding  us  that  the  Gospel  of  Jesus  is  deeper, 
richer  and  larger  than  our  individual  insight 
and  emphasis;  and,  further,  that  though  we 
have  the  eloquence  of  an  angel  and  the  zeal 
of  a  martyr,  and  have  not  brotherly  love,  we 
are  as  dead.  God  be  thanked  for  a  prophet- 
bishop  !  Long  may  he  labour  among  us ! 


VII:  A.  Maude  Royden 

The  story  of  how  the  greatest  woman 
preacher  of  our  generation  was  discovered  and 
pushed  into  the  pulpit,  is  after  this  manner. 
As  had  been  anticipated  both  by  myself  and  by 
the  officers  of  the  City  Temple,  it  soon  became 
plain  that  I  must  have  a  colleague  in  my  work. 
Indeed,  it  had  been  so  agreed  before  I  landed 
in  England,  and  as  a  condition  of  my  accept¬ 
ance  of  the  Temple  ministry.  The  strain  of 
three  sermons  each  week,  with  so  many  out¬ 
side  demands,  had  taxed  the  strength  of  a 
giant  like  Dr.  Parker — who  often  enough 
“warmed  over”  old  material  on  a  Thursday — 
and  it  had  nearly  killed  R.  J.  Campbell.  Be¬ 
sides,  invitations  were  pouring  in  upon  me 
from  all  over  the  kingdom,  and  the  City  Temple 
people  sympathised  entirely  with  my  plan  for 
a  larger  ministry  of  interpretation  between  the 
two  countries.  But  to  find  a  colleague  was  no 

easy  undertaking — so  many  preachers  were 

122 


A.  Maude  Royden  1^3 

already  at  the  war  that  churches  had  to 
double  up. 

Since  England  was  at  that  time  a  world  of 
women,  and  woman  was  entering  upon  a  life 
new  and  strange  and  difficult,  it  seemed  to  some 
of  us  that  if  a  great  woman  of  genius  could  be 
found  the  problem  would  be  solved.  Such  a 
thing  could  not  have  been  done  before  the 
war  without  a  hubbub  of  criticism,  and  it  would 
have  been  denounced  as  a  Yankee  innovation. 
But  the  war  had  changed  everything.  Woman 
had  been  in  revolt;  now  she  was  triumphant, 
the  vote,  about  which  there  had  been  so  much 
bother,  having  become  a  mere  bagatelle  to  be 
taken  for  granted.  She  had  shown  her  worth 
in  the  war,  taking  the  place  of  man  even  in 
hard,  heavy  work.  There  was  need  of  a  wom¬ 
an  of  vision  to  interpret  the  new  life  of  woman, 
its  spiritual  meaning  no  less  than  its  obliga¬ 
tions  and  aspirations,  if  only  the  right  one 
could  be  found  to  meet  the  need. 

Of  women  preachers  there  had  been  a  few 
in  England  before,  and  many  in  America — 
from  the  days  of  Mary  Livermore  down — but 
on  neither  side  of  the  Atlantic  had  any  woman 
ever  been  chosen  as  a  regular  assistant  in  a 


124  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

great  city  pulpit.  Fearsome  things  were 
prophesied  of  so  revolutionary  an  arrange¬ 
ment;  even  a  few  of  the  City  Temple  folk 
hesitated,  much  depending,  as  they  said,  upon 
the  woman  selected.  Fortunately  we  found  in 
Miss  A.  Maude  Royden  the  woman  exactly 
fitted  by  genius,  by  training,  by  temperament, 
and  by  courage  to  attempt  a  great  work  and 
do  it.  Yet,  as  a  fact,  though  devout  almost  to 
asceticism,  she  had  never  tried  to  preach,  and 
apparently  had  not  thought  of  doing  so,  know¬ 
ing,  as  a  loyal  daughter  of  the  Church  of  Eng¬ 
land,  that  she  would  not  be  allowed  to  preach 
in  her  own  communion.  She  did  not  know 
whether  she  could  preach  or  not.  Nor  did  we. 
Finally,  not  without  misgiving  and  much  per¬ 
suasion,  she  agreed  to  try,  and,  as  all  now 
know,  the  attempt  was  brilliantly  vindicated. 
The  secular  press  welcomed  the  innovation 
with  enthusiasm,  and  even  the  religious  papers 
—with  exceptions,  of  course,  chiefly  among  the 
Anglican  journals — accepted  it  as  an  inevitable 
“sign  of  the  times/’  watching  the  experiment 
with  interest  and  concern. 

Sunday  after  Sunday  large  congregations 
gathered  to  hear  Miss  Royden,  some  drawn 


A.  Maude  Roy  den  125 

by  curiosity  at  first,  but  all  remained  to  pray; 
and  if  the  majority  of  her  audiences  were 
women,  it  was  to  be  noted  that  many  men 
in  khaki  found  her  preaching  a  blessing. 
Naturally,  in  private,  I  had  to  bear  the  brunt 
of  criticism,  in  a  flood  of  letters  sometimes 
angry,  and  often  ugly.  Of  course  the  words 
of  St.  Paul  about  women  keeping  silence  in 
church  were  worn  threadbare — so  few  knew 
what  he  meant — -and  the  gibe  of  Dr.  Johnson 
about  a  woman  preaching  being  like  a  dog  try¬ 
ing  to  walk  on  his  hind  legs,  was  not  forgotten. 
More  than  one  letter  reminded  me  of  the  dic¬ 
tum  of  Montaigne  that  “women  are  hardly  fit 
to  treat  on  matters  of  theology”;  and  so  it 
went,  with  much  ridicule  of  “petticoats  in  the 
pulpit.”  One  Anglican  layman  did,  however, 
modify  the  saying  of  Henry  Sidgwick  for  my 
benefit:  “Of  course,  it’s  nonsense,  but  it's 
the  right  kind  of  nonsense.”  As  often  as  I 
met  the  Bishop  of  London,  his  chief  concerns 
seemed  to  be  whether  Miss  Royden  actually 
stood  in  the  pulpit  of  the  City  Temple,  and 
whether  or  not  she  wore  a  hat!  It  did  not 
matter;  I  was  content  to  let  facts  refute  folly, 


126  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

and  Miss  Royden  soon  made  her  place  in  what 
proved  to  be  her  rightful  sphere. 

The  daughter  of  Sir  Thomas  Royden,  Bart., 
formerly  Lord  Mayor  of  Liverpool,  in  a  home 
at  once  high  church  and  ultra  Tory,  Miss 
Royden  was  born  to  a  life  of  wealth,  luxury, 
and  culture.  Like  Beatrice  she  might  have 
said,  “Then  there  was  a  star  danced  and  under 
it  I  was  born” ;  but  it  was  a  pilgrim  star  making 
her  a  pioneer,  a  radical,  a  reformer,  a  leader 
of  unpopular  causes.  Unlike  Beatrice,  she  did 
not  feel  the  sadness  of  the  world  only  when 
she  was  asleep;  the  more  awake  she  was  the 
more  she  felt  it,  though  never  in  a  way  to  be¬ 
cloud  a  spirit  to  whom  joy  was  native,  beauty 
a  sacrament,  and  life  an  adventure  and  a 
challenge.  She  was  educated  at  Cheltenham 
College,  going  later  into  residence  at  Lady 
Margaret  Hall,  Oxford,  where  she  took  hon¬ 
ours  in  modern  history.  After  some  work  done 
in  the  slums  of  Liverpool  and  in  a  midland 
country  parish,  she  became  the  first  woman  lec¬ 
turer  under  the  Oxford  University  Extension 
scheme,  her  subjects  being  history  and  litera¬ 
ture.  Always  her  interest  lay  less  with  the 
classes  than  with  the  masses,  where,  as  Dos- 


A.  Maude  Roy  den  127 

toevsky,  her  favourite  novelist,  had  shown,  so 
much  of  divinity  is  to  be  found. 

For  some  years  Miss  Royden  devoted  her¬ 
self  to  the  cause  of  the  enfranchisement  of 
women,  and  as  editor  of  The  Common  Cause, 
she  very  soon  won  a  place  of  leadership  in  the 
law-abiding  suffrage  movement.  To  a  smaller 
public  she  was  known  as  an  original  thinker, 
an  expert  in  all  matters  relating  to  the  life  of 
woman  and  child — having  much  the  same  posi¬ 
tion  in  England  that  Miss  Jane  Addams  has 
long  held  in  America — and  a  writer  in  behalf 
of  a  new  internationalism.  Indeed,  she  was  a 
pleader  for  all  great  human  causes,  but 
especially  for  a  purer  social  life,  based,  not 
upon  legalisms,  but  upon  a  higher  standard, 
equal  for  men  and  women,  in  morals,  health, 
and  culture.  Yet,  during  all  those  labours  and 
agitations,  she  kept  an  inviolate  altar  in  her 
heart — -true  to  the  church  in  spite  of  its  laggard 
and  reluctant  interest  in  prophetic  human 
enterprises — uniting  the  devotion  of  a  saint 
with  a  flaming  social  passion,  and  keeping  both 
in  poise  by  a  dauntless  faith,  a  calm  reason¬ 
ableness,  and  a  rich  and  sparkling  humour. 

Slight  of  figure,  frail  unspeakably,  with  a 


128  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

limp  in  her  gait,  as  an  orator  Miss  Royden  is 
unique  in  her  simplicity — direct,  forthright, 
winsome.  She  reminds  me  more  of  Frances 
Willard — “St.  Frances,  of  Evanston,”  as  I  love 
to  call  her — than  anyone  I  remember  to  have 
heard,  albeit  with  more  verve  and  fire.  Rich, 
mellow,  unfaltering,  her  voice  is  singularly  re¬ 
vealing,  her  articulation  perfect,  and,  without 
a  trace  of  sentimentality,  she  speaks  to  the 
heart.  There  is  no  shrillness  in  her  eloquence, 
no  impression  of  strain,  no  affectation.  She 
speaks  with  the  exquisite  ease  of  long  practice, 
in  a  style  more  conversational  than  oratorical, 
and  is  more  at  home  in  an  assembly  where  the 
people  can  answer  back,  whether  on  a  chair  at 
the  street  corner,  or  at  a  conference  of  a  band 
of  rescue  workers,  or  wherever  the  common 
people  foregather. 

At  first  she  was  not  at  home  in  the  pulpit  of 
the  City  Temple,  until  she  started  an  after 
meeting  in  which  her  hearers  could  have  their 
say,  discussing  questions  suggested  by  the 
sermon,  or  the  problems  of  the  religious  life. 
Some  of  her  epigrams  are  unforgettable  in 
their  quick-sighted  summing  up  of  situations, 
as  when  she  said  in  the  Royal  Albert  Hall,  to 


A.  Maude  Roy  den  129 

the  horror  of  deans  and  bishops :  “The  church 
of  England  is  the  conservative  party  at 
prayer.’"  One  secret  of  her  influence  and  power 
may  be  found  in  the  faith  thus  confessed:  “I 
am  convinced  that  what  I  can  see  others  can 
see,  and  nothing  will  persuade  me  that  the 
world  is  not  ready  for  an  ideal  for  which  I  am 
ready.”  Untrained  in  theology — which  some 
hold  to  be  an  advantage — she  deals  with  the 
old  issues  of  faith  as  an  educated,  spiritually- 
minded  woman  in  sensitive  contact  with  life, 
inspired  by  a  lofty  faith  and  guided  by  a  sancti¬ 
fied  common  sense  worth  more  than  much 
dogma.  She  casts  aside  the  “muffled  Chris¬ 
tianity”  which  Wells  once  described  as  the 
religion  of  the  well-to-do  classes,  holding  resig¬ 
nation  to  be  “a  detestable  virtue,”  however 
canonical,  if  it  means  that  worship  is  to  be  an 
opiate  and  the  sermon  a  dose  of  soothing  syrup. 
Not  only  stimulating  but  provocative — seldom 
provoking — it  is  no  wonder  that  she  shocked 
many  of  the  staid,  unco-respectable  folk  when 
she  made  her  advent  in  the  City  Temple. 

Nothing  was  plainer  than  that  the  best  way 
for  me  to  help  Miss  Royden  was  to  let  her  be 
entirely  free;  and  I  did  so.  Usually  we  had 


130  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

a  conference  once  a  month,  or  more  often  in 
case  of  emergency,  and  we  never  had  but  one 
difference  of  judgment — regarding  sending  a 
petition  from  the  City  Temple  to  the  British 
government  to  lift  the  blockade,  which,  as  an 
American  citizen,  I  could  not  do,  though  I  as¬ 
sured  her  she  was  free  to  denounce  the  block¬ 
ade  as  she  liked.  Not  the  least  important 
feature  of  the  work  of  Miss  Royden  at  the 
Temple,  aside  from  the  three  services  a  month 
which  she  conducted,  was  what  I  called  her 
‘clinic” ;  that  is,  two  or  three  days  a  week  when 
she  was  in  attendance  at  the  City  Temple,  act¬ 
ing  as  guide,  confidant  and  friend  to  hundreds 
of  women,  and  as  priest  and  confessor  to  not 
a  few.  Here  she  did  what  no  man  born  may 
ever  hope  to  do.  Woman  can  comfort  and 
counsel  woman  in  a  way  unique.  Tactful,  large 
souled,  wisely  sympathetic,  she  entered  deeply 
into  the  problems  of  those  who  consulted  her, 
gaining  a  clear  insight  into  the  real  needs  of 
the  modern  soul  astray  in  its  own  life — wist¬ 
ful,  lonely,  troubled,  longing  for  an  experi¬ 
mental  sense  of  spiritual  reality,  yet  only  half 
willing  to  submit  to  the  discipline  of  the  quest. 
It  meant  much  to  young  women  bewildered  by 


A.  Maude  Roy  den  131 

perplexity,  or  broken  by  bereavement,  to  meet 
and  take  counsel  with  a  woman  like  Miss 
Roydem  And  this  ministry  of  conference  and 
confession  reacted,  in  turn,  upon  her  preaching, 
making  it  peculiarly  effective  in  meeting  the 
issues,  both  spiritual  and  social,  confronting 
present  day  womanhood. 

There  was  a  brief  outcry  of  criticism  when 
Miss  Royden  christened  a  child  one  Sunday — a 
service  performed  with  such  grace  and  im¬ 
pressiveness  that  it  was  not  soon  forgotten — 
but  the  critics  were  soon  hushed.  Personally 
I  should  have  been  glad  to  have  had  her  ad¬ 
minister  the  Lord’s  Supper,  but  she  thought 
it  best  not  to  do  so,  lest  it  expose  her  to  rebuke, 
if  not  to  discipline,  by  the  authorities  of  the 
Anglican  church,  to  which  she  remained  loyal, 
and  some  of  whose  leaders  resented  her  min¬ 
istry  in  the  City  Temple.  Indeed,  the  Bishop 
of  London  actually  inhibited  her  from  conduct¬ 
ing  a  Good  Friday  service  in  one  of  the  city 
churches  under  his  obedience,  to  the  horror  of 
multitudes  of  Christian  people  who  felt  that 
on  that  day,  of  all  days,  no  voice  of  prayer 
should  be  hushed.  It  seemed  to  many  that  the 
Bishop — whose  foresight  is  not  abnormal — had 


132  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

been  wiser,  if,  instead  of  driving  Miss  Royden 
out  of  the  church,  to  consort  with  feminists, 
intellectuals  and  social  revolutionaries,  he  had 
set  her  the  task  of  bringing  them  inside.  But 
apparently  he  was  more  concerned  about  her 
hat  than  about  what  she  was  doing  with  the 
brains  under  her  hat!  Like  John  Wesley,  she 
may  remain  all  her  days  in  the  Anglican  fold, 
but  she  will  be  there  only  in  her  private 
capacity,  and  her  influence  will  be  centrifugal. 

At  any  rate,  I  gave  a  great  woman  a  great 
opportunity,  to  which  she  measured  up,  vindi¬ 
cating  once  for  all  the  possibilities  of  a  woman 
of  genius  in  the  service  of  the  Christian  pulpit ; 
and  together  we  gave  an  example  of  that  Chris¬ 
tian  unity  of  which  we  heard  so  much  and  saw 
so  little.  In  short,  the  woman  insight,  the 
woman  touch,  the  woman  point  of  view  were 
needed  in  the  pulpit,  as  elsewhere,  and  her 
presence  added  to  the  City  Temple  ministry 
a  hint  of  that  beautiful  thing  which  we  feel  in 
the  Gospel  of  St.  Luke.  It  was  an  honour  to 
have  a  colleague  so  gifted  and  so  gracious,  and 
our  fellowship  was  the  more  completely  har¬ 
monious,  no  doubt,  because  each  could  do  what 
the  other  could  not  do.  As  the  war  went  on, 


A.  Maude  Royden  133 

bringing  a  still  further  degradation  of  morals 
in  respect  to  the  relations  of  the  sexes — an 
appalling  letting  down  of  the  bars  to  the  brute 
— more  than  one  issue  came  up  with  which 
Miss  Royden  could  deal  in  a  manner  impossible 
to  any  man.  She  showed  how  a  woman  of 
ethereal  refinement  and  spirituality,  while 
speaking  plainly,  can  handle  such  delicate  and 
difficult  subjects  as  no  man  can  handle  them. 
An  entry  in  my  London  Diary  speaks  for 
itself : 

April  15,  1918:— When  the  question  came 
up  as  to  the  Maison-Tolerees — that  is,  houses 
within  the  bounds  of  the  British  Army  in  which 
women  were  herded,  under  medical  super¬ 
vision,  for  the  uses  of  the  soldiery — I  had  a 
conference  with  Miss  Royden,  telling  her  that 
the  problem  was  hers.  She  agreed,  and  the 
manner  in  which  she  has  dealt  with  it  is  mag¬ 
nificent.  Delicately,  yet  plainly,  disguising 
none  of  the  beastliness  of  it,  she  stated  the 
case,  and  I  have  never  seen  such  flaming  wrath 
of  outraged  womanhood  against  the  degrada¬ 
tion  of  her  sex!  To  those  who  defended  the 
system — and  I  heard  it  defended  in  a  group 
of  Christian  ministers! — after  describing  the 
tolerated  house  at  Cayeux-sur-Mer,  and  de¬ 
nouncing  the  Government  as  a  procurer  in  the 
practise  of  prostitution,  she  said:  “To  any 


134  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

woman  who  believes  the  sacrifice  to  be  neces¬ 
sary,  I  would  say  that  she  ought  herself  to 
volunteer !  The  men  who  urge  regulated 
prostitution  on  grounds  of  national  necessity, 
ought  to  invite  their  wives  and  daughters  to 
fill  the  places  left  vacant  by  the  women  who 
are  worn  out !  I  use  words  that  sear  my  heart, 
but  as  a  woman  in  a  Christian  pulpit  I  cannot 
be  silent  in  the  presence  of  such  an  infamy!” 
Soon  the  Government  began  to  wince  under 
her  attacks,  and  the  abomination  was  abolished. 
Unfortunately  the  Archbishop  did  not  get 
angry  until  after  the  victory  had  been  won — 
then  he  denounced  the  horror  in  the  House  of 
Lords ! 

The  ministry  of  Miss  Royden  at  the  City 
Temple — memorable  in  many  ways — ended 
with  my  own,  because  she  did  not  wish  to  em¬ 
barrass  my  successor,  and  she  feared  that  no 
British  minister  would  work  with  her  as  I  had 
done.  In  this  she  was  happily  mistaken.  Later, 
she  and  Dr.  Dearmer,  of  King's  College,  held 
services  in  the  Kensington  Town  Hall  with 
conspicuous  success — he  speaking  in  the  after¬ 
noons,  she  in  the  evenings,  to  the  vast  audience 
which  follows  her  wherever  she  goes.  For  a 
time  she  was  a  wanderer,  a  preacher  to  whom 
no  church  would  open  its  doors — a  strange 


A.  Maude  Roy  den  135 

situation  at  a  time  when  so  many  churches, 
both  Anglican  and  Free,  were  empty!  Finally 
an  abandoned  church  was  secured,  and  she 
and  Dr.  Dearmer  have  formed  a  Fellowship, 
to  which  many  restless,  forward-looking 
people  are  attracted — but,  alas,  ill  health  adds 
a  handicap  to  one  already  frail.  Whatever  may 
be  the  future  of  Miss  Royden,  it  was  the  City 
Temple  that  discovered  her  and  gave  her  an 
opportunity  equal  to  her  powers.  There,  in  a 
setting  and  service  often  described — never 
more  vividly  than  by  Archibald  Marshall  in 
his  story,  The  Greatest  of  These — the  dark 
little  woman  in  the  big  white  pulpit  seemed  in 
accord  with  the  fitness  of  things;  and  her 
genius  shone  as  a  light  of  God  in  the  cruel  days 
of  war,  and  the  still  more  cruel  days  of  rancour 
and  reaction  which  followed* 


VIII:  Samuel  McChord 

Crothers 

A  Nevada  minister  once  described  to  me  the 
action  of  a  brother  minister  in  the  early  days. 
The  minister  went  to  a  certain  town  where  he 
offended  the  lawless  element,  and  was  threat¬ 
ened  with  physical  violence  if  he  persisted  in  his 
intention  of  preaching.  My  friend  described 
the  method  by  which  the  liberty  of  prophesying 
was  asserted.  “He  went  into  the  pulpit,  laid 
his  revolver  on  the  Bible — and  then  preached 
ex  tempore  ” 

The  manner  of  narration  savoured  of  the 
soil.  The  Honest  Miner  under  the  circum¬ 
stances  would  subordinate  everything  to  em¬ 
phasis  on  the  correct  homiletical  method.  No 
matter  how  able  the  minister  might  be,  it  was 
evident  that  if  he  were  closely  confined  to  his 
notes,  his  delivery  could  not  be  effective. 

These  words  from  an  inimitable  essay,  “A 
Community  of  Humourists,”  1  show  us  the 
difference  between  the  humour  of  the  back¬ 
woodsman  and  that  of  the  miner  of  the  west — 

1  The  Pardoner’s  Wallet. 

1 36 


Samuel  McChord  Crothers  137 

whither  Dr.  Crothers  went  from  Union  Semi¬ 
nary,  driven  by  an  illness  which  required  the 
high,  clear  air  of  the  mountains.  The  humour 
of  the  pioneer  consisted  in  a  grave,  grotesque 
exaggeration,  while  that  of  the  miner  is  a  deli¬ 
cate,  deliberate  understatement,  like  the  con¬ 
siderate  notice  posted  by  the  side  of  an  open 
shaft:  “Gentlemen  will  please  not  fall  down 
this  shaft,  for  there  are  men  at  work  below.” 
But  the  passage  has  a  further  significance  more 
pertinent  to  the  matter  in  hand.  As  a  fact,  so 
I  have  been  told,  it  was  after  some  such  fashion 
— happily  without  a  threat  of  violence  or  the 
need  of  a  revolver— that  Dr.  Crothers  himself 
learned  that  he  could  preach  without  manu¬ 
script  or  notes;  a  discovery  which  added  a 
whole  dimension  to  his  power  as  a  preacher. 

The  story,  as  it  was  told  me  on  good  author¬ 
ity,  ran  somewhat  after  this  manner.  It  was 
the  first  Sunday  the  young  theologue  ever  ap¬ 
peared  in  a  pulpit,  and,  supposing  that  he  was 
to  have  but  one  service  on  that  day,  he  pre¬ 
pared  only  one  sermon.  The  sermon  was  care¬ 
fully  written  and  apparently  got  itself  preached 
without  mishap;  but  to  his  amazement,  during 
the  morning  service  he  was  asked  to  announce 


138  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

a  second  service  in  the  evening  at  which  he 
was  to  be  the  preacher.  As  the  afternoon  was 
taken  up  with  engagements,  and  he  had  no 
time  to  prepare,  he  was  obliged  to  preach  off¬ 
hand,  so  to  speak ;  and  he  did  it  with  such  ease 
and  joy  that  he  has  never  used  manuscript 
since.  It  was  a  fortunate  circumstance,  and 
one  often  wishes  that  something  of  the  sort 
might  happen — as  in  the  case  of  the  prophet 
of  Nevada,  who  dared  not  take  his  eyes  off  his 
audience  lest  he  be  shot — compelling  all  preach¬ 
ers  to  speak  freely,  frankly,  and  directly  con¬ 
cerning  the  things  that  matter  most. 

The  passage  quoted  above  has  a  still  further 
significance,  as  showing  the  wide  experience 
Dr.  Crothers  has  had  of  America,  and  espe¬ 
cially  of  the  west,  which  he  has  interpreted 
with  so  much  insight  and  understanding.  If 
asked  where  the  west  begins,  he  would  answer 
that  it  begins  “at  that  point  where  the  centre 
of  interest  suddenly  shifts  from  the  day  before 
yesterday  to  the  day  after  tomorrow.”  No 
one  knows  America,  he  insists,  until  he  has 
been  touched  by  the  fever  of  the  west ;  and  one 
who  has  felt  that  fever  never  completely  re¬ 
covers,  but  is  always  subject  to  intermittent 


Samuel  McChord  Crothers  139 

attacks.  Indeed,  his  life  in  Nevada  and  his 
ministry  in  Minnesota  qualify  him  to  write 
that  psychological-geography  of  “The  Land  of 
the  Large  and  Charitable  Air/’  which  he  sug¬ 
gests  in  an  essay  of  that  title.  Hence  a  chapter 
on  “The  Lure  of  the  West”  in  the  best  book 
ever  written  in  interpretation  of  Emerson  2  — 
the  best  in  its  appreciative  discrimination,  and 
because  it  treats  the  Sage  of  Concord  not  as 
an  oracle,  but  as  a  comrade  and  “con¬ 
temporary”— who  did  “more  than  any  one  else 
to  redeem  the  New  England  group  of  authors 
from  the  kind  of  provincialism  which  was  their 
darling  sin.”  Like  Emerson,  he  knows  the 
robust,  prophetic  idealism  of  the  west,  and 
loves  it  the  more  because  it  is  still  pushing  its 
way  up  through  the  hearty,  wholesome  ma¬ 
terialism  of  a  new  country;  and  so  long  as 
America  keeps  these  two  things  together,  it 
will  not  go  far  astray. 

Such  is  the  background  of  the  ministry  of 
Dr.  Crothers  to  one  of  the  most  thoughtful 
and  cultured  congregations  in  New  England,  in 
the  old  First  Parish  of  Cambridge — where  not 
a  little  of  the  old  provincialism  which  Emerson 

2  Emerson,  How  to  Know  Him. 


140  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

sought  to  correct  is  still  to  be  found.  There, 
in  a  church  mellow  with  history,  in  a  setting 
exquisite  in  its  simplicity — colonial  in  aspect 
and  arrangement — I  heard  Dr.  Crothers 
preach  not  far  from  twenty  years  gone  by. 
The  atmosphere  and  impression  of  that  hour 
are  still  vivid  in  my  heart,  and  still  more  the 
radiant  and  benignant  personality  of  the 
preacher — his  grave,  quiet  manner,  his  delib¬ 
erate  delivery,  his  chaste  and  limpid  style,  his 
sly  humour,  his  lofty  and  logical  thought.  At 
this  distance  I  do  not  recall  the  text,  but  his 
theme  was  “Three  Ancient  Types  of  Religion,” 
the  priest,  the  prophet,  and  the  philosopher; 
and  he  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  compound  of  all 
three.  It  so  happened  that  I  was  in  the  first 
glow  and  enthusiasm  of  my  discovery  of  Emer¬ 
son,  and  I  felt  as  King  Herod  must  have  felt 
when  he  heard  of  the  preaching  of  Jesus,  and 
thought  he  was  John  the  Baptist  returned  from 
the  dead.  Indeed,  all  through  the  sermon  I 
felt  almost  as  if  I  were  listening  to  Emerson — 
not  that  Dr.  Crothers  was  an  echo  of  the  sage, 
or  even  a  disciple,  but  he  had  the  same  wise 
and  serene  elevation  of  thought.  So  much  was 
this  true  that  I  have  hesitated  to  describe  the 


Samuel  McChord  Crothers  141 

impression  of  that  day,  fearing  that  the  two 
men  were  blended,  if  not  blurred,  in  my  mind, 
like  a  dissolving  view.  But  since  reading  his 
book  on  Emerson — in  which  we  see  how  much 
the  two  have  in  common,  and  in  what  ways 
they  differ — I  am  not  sure  that  I  was  so  far 
wrong,  after  all ;  and  my  faith  is  confirmed  by 
a  letter  from  a  great  and  wise  man  who  has 
attended  the  First  Parish  church  for  many 
years : 

The  study  of  Dr.  Crothers  as  a  preacher 
presents  an  interesting  problem;  for,  in  the 
ordinary  sense  of  the  word,  he  is  not  a 
preacher.  Pie  uses  no  hortatory  eloquence,  or 
application  of  his  theme ;  nothing  of  the 
“Finally,  my  brethren/’  or  “O  my  dear 
friends.”  Pie  simply  delivers  himself  of  a 
thought,  and  lets  it  have  its  own  way.  In  the 
details  of  parish  affairs  he  is  very  childlike,  and 
the  simplest  notice  is  a  stumbling  block  to  him. 
He  is  but  slightly  interested  in  the  enrichment 
of  worship,  or  its  technical  details.  On  the 
other  hand,  when  he  passes  to  the  development 
of  his  thought,  he  is  the  finest  master  of  logical 
and  convincing*  speech  I  ever  knew.  With 
no  shred  of  manuscript,  and  no  appearance  of 
effort,  his  sermon  advances  up  the  heights  of 
insight  and  power  with  extraordinary  con¬ 
tinuity  and  force.  In  other  words,  he  is  at  his 


142  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

best  when  his  thought  is  most  elevated,  and 
least  effective  when  dealing  with  ordinary 
affairs.  He  is  the  lineal  descendant  of  Emer¬ 
son  in  the  pulpit,  directing  a  transparent 
stream  of  purifying  thoughtfulness.  Such  a 
method  removes  him  altogether  from  the  posi¬ 
tion  of  a  model  for  other  preachers.  An  earlier 
generation  of  Unitarian  ministers  ran  much 
risk  of  being  spoiled  by  using  a  method  which 
is  described  as  “Emerson  and  water.”  To 
imitate  Crothers  without  his  genius  for  lucidity 
would  be  a  hopeless  task.  He  is  as  much  alone 
in  the  pulpit  as  Emerson  is  in  literature.  The 
consequences  of  this  kind  of  ministry  are,  how¬ 
ever,  instructive.  It  is  generally  recognised 
in  his  parish  that  he  cannot  be  depended  upon 
as  a  mechanic  or  organiser.  Accepting  his  in¬ 
spiration,  others  do  the  work  of  organisation, 
and  his  church  has  become  distinguished  for  its 
multifarious  undertakings  of  social  service.  In 
other  words,  the  wheels  go  round  because  there 
is  a  quietly  moving  and  powerful  engine  among 
them,  like  the  Living  Creatures  among  the 
wheels,  whom  Ezekiel  saw. 

Unfortunately,  for  the  purposes  of  this 
article,  Dr.  Crothers  is  more  widely  known  as 
an  essayist  than  as  a  preacher ;  and  he  can  never 
be  really  known  as  a  preacher  save  by  those 
who  hear  him.  His  sermons,  as  we  read  them, 
are  essays — like  most  sermons  in  the  Unitarian 


Samuel  McChord  Crothers  143 

ministry  to  which  he  belongs — that  it  might  be 
fulfilled  which  was  spoken  by  the  prophet 
Emerson : 

A  new  commandment,  said  the  smiling  Muse, 
I  give  my  darling  son,  Thou  shalt  not  preach., 

But  his  essays  are  often  sermons,  and  good 
ones,  too,  such  as  “The  Cruelty  of  Good 
People,”  or  the  chapter  in  his  study  of  Emer¬ 
son  entitled  “Spent  the  Day  at  Essex  Junc¬ 
tion.”  A  more  helpful  sermon  than  that 
chapter  it  would  be  hard  to  name,  teaching  us 
that  we  must  learn  how  to  find  fulness  of  life 
everywhere,  anywhere,  even  in  “a  place  on  the 
way  to  somewhere  else.”  But  the  reason  why 
one  must  hear  Dr.  Crothers  in  order  to  know 
him  as  a  preacher  is  that  his  sermons  are 
seldom,  if  ever,  printed  as  they  were  delivered. 
Often  there  is  as  much  humour  in  his  preach¬ 
ing  as  in  his  essays,  but  the  sermons  are  revised 
by  him  from  the  report  of  the  stenographer, 
and  he  edits  the  humour  out.  This  is  matter 
for  regret,  not  only  because  humour  has  a  place 
in  religion,  but  because  the  humour  of  Dr. 
Crothers  is  unique,  blending  the  elusive  smile 
of  Emerson,  the  whimsical  wisdom  of  Lamb, 


144  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

and  the  inverted  exaggeration  of  the  Honest 
Miner,  with  many  ingredients  all  his  own. 
Anyway,  his  printed  sermons  hardly  give  an 
adequate  idea  of  the  impression  made  upon 
his  hearers.  How  he  prepares  his  sermons 
some  of  us  would  like  to  know,  just  as  we 
should  like  to  know  what  use  he  makes,  in 
these  arid  days,  of  a  certain  fund  left  to  the 
First  Parish  by  a  benevolent  saint  of  long  ago, 
intended  “to  supply  the  minister  with  tobacco 
and  rum.”  Of  course,  a  man  who  has  access 
to  The  Pardoner  s  Wallet  enjoys  obvious  ad¬ 
vantages;  but  the  matter  excites  curiosity. 

Almost  thirty  years  have  now  come  and  gone 
since  Dr.  Crothers  published  his  first  volume  of 
sermons,  entitled  Members  of  One  Body , 
which  happily  may  still  be  had.  It  was  made 
up  of  a  series  of  Sunday  evening  addresses 
during  his  ministry  at  St.  Paul — when  he  was 
a  kind  of  bishop  of  the  northwest,  starting  new 
centres  of  liberal  faith  at  Duluth,  St.  Cloud, 
and  as  far  as  Helena — dealing  with  the  differ¬ 
ent  types  of  the  religious  life,  Catholicism, 
Calvinism,  Methodism,  Rationalism,  Mysti¬ 
cism,  and  a  final  address  on  “The  Unity  of 
Christendom.”  Even  in  those  early  days  he 


Samuel  McChord  Crothers  145 

was  master  of  the  same  lucid  style,  and  had 
the  same  large  outlook  in  which  many  appar¬ 
ently  contradictory  qualities  were  joined — 
breadth  and  depth,  rationalism  and  mysticism, 
catholicity  and  missionary  zeal,  the  wisdom  of 
a  philosopher  and  the  ardour  of  a  reformer. 
A  more  sincere  appreciation  of  the  great  quali¬ 
ties  of  the  Roman  church  it  would  be  hard  to 
find;  and  so  of  the  other  types,  his  plea  being 
for  men  of  the  spirit  who  are  co-operatively 
minded,  which  requires  them  to  get  rid  both  of 
narrowness  and  fastidiousness.  Toleration  is 
not  enough ;  there  must  be  insight,  understand¬ 
ing,  appreciation.  We  must  not  simply  live 
and  let  live,  think  and  let  think ;  we  must  learn 
that  the  devout  life  is  everywhere  the  same, 
"Towing  underneath  the  thickest  ice  of  theory/’ 
if  we  try  to  discern  and  understand.  What  is 
greater  than  any  one  of  our  sects?  All  of 
them !  Our  very  recognition  of  the  truth  which 
each  contains  should  make  us  realise  how 
fragmentary  each  is.  As  we  may  read: 

When  we  assume  this  attitude,  we  begin  to 
see  through  all  its  variations  of  thought  the 
essential  unity  of  Christianity.  The  most  op¬ 
posite  types  have  points  of  kinship.  Each  of 


146  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

them  is  aiming  to  get  beyond  sectarian  narrow¬ 
ness,  and  to  build  a  universal  church.  They 
agree  as  to  their  ideals:  they  disagree  as  to 
their  way  of  reaching  them.  .  .  .  How  may 
this  unity  be  practically  realised?  I  have  little 
hope  in  any  external  power  that  shall  compel 
uniformity.  I  think  such  external  union  under 
present  conditions  neither  desirable  nor  practi¬ 
cable.  When  we  read  that  different  competing 
firms  have  united  their  interests  in  one  great 
trust,  we  expect  very  soon  after  to  find  a 
modest  item  in  the  papers  to  the  effect  that  this 
trust  has  taken  measures  to  limit  production. 
And,  were  all  the  churches  of  Christendom 
united  in  one  church,  the  next  move  would  be 
to  repress  the  liberty  of  prophesying.  If  we 
cannot  have  liberty  and  union,  we  must  cling 
ever  to  liberty.  But  I  am  one  who  believes  that 
through  the  most  perfect  liberty  will  come  at 
last  the  most  perfect  unity. 

There  is  no  power  in  any  sect  or  church  that 
can  prevent  that  largeness  of  sympathy  which 
every  man  of  true  religion  exercises.  I  like 
the  good  old  New  England  puritan  who,  when 
he  was  excommunicated  by  the  church,  refused 
to  stay  excommunicated.  We  read  that  for 
twenty  years  the  good  man  came  every  com¬ 
munion  Sunday,  and  brought  with  him  a  bit 
of  bread  and  bit  of  wine  of  his  own,  and  there, 
in  the  safety  of  his  high  pew,  communed  with 
the  church,  in  spite  of  the  deacons.  When  a 
man  brings  his  own  communion  with  him,  who 


Samuel  McChord  Crothers  147 

can  prevent  ?  Whether  we  shall  enjoy  the  com¬ 
munion  of  saints  depends  on  ourselves.  The 
best  that  belongs  to  Calvinism  and  the  best 
that  belongs  to  Romanism  is  mine,  if  I  seek  it. 
The  fellowship  of  the  spirit,  which  is  the  only 
fellowship  that  one  need  care  to  obtain — this 
fellowship  is  ours,  if  we  will. 

From  heart  to  heart,  from  creed  to  creed, 

The  hidden  river  runs. 

A  second  volume  of  sermons,  entitled  The 
Understanding  Heart ,  appeared  ten  years 
later — he  has  published  but  two,  though  many 
of  his  sermons  may  be  had  in  pamphlet  form — 
yet  one  would  not  know  that  it  is  a  volume  of 
sermons  at  all.  There  are  no  texts  to  tell  us  so. 
There  is  none  of  the  urgency  or  appeal  that 
goes  with  preaching;  no  exhortation,  no  fer¬ 
vour  of  evangelism,  such  as  we  find  in  Theo¬ 
dore  Parker.  It  is  a  book  of  essays  for  the  elect, 
who  know  that  the  problems  of  the  under¬ 
standing  heart  are  educational,  and  that  only 
so  can  we  readjust  our  thought  and  faith  to  the 
facts  of  a  growing,  but  friendly,  universe. 
How  may  our  religious  inheritance  be  harmon¬ 
ised  with  our  fresh  experiences?  How  may 
the  institutions  which  have  purely  spiritual 
ends  be  adjusted  to  those  which  serve  our  ma- 


148  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

terial  welfare?  How  may  we  at  the  same  time 
live  according  to  the  rules  of  sound  reason  and 
according  to  the  inspirations  of  religious  faith? 
Such  questions  are  discussed  with  fruitful  in¬ 
sight,  a  gentle  and  revealing  wisdom,  and  a 
grace  of  form  which  marks  all  his  work.  The 
readjustment  must  not  be  merely  formal,  but 
must  come  through  the  multitudes  of  men  and 
women  doing  their  work  with  joyous  and  con¬ 
fident  intelligence,  following  the  new  develop¬ 
ments  as  well  as  recording  the  old — organising 
the  religion  of  freedom,  as  of  old  men  organ¬ 
ised  the  religion  of  authority. 

However,  it  is  an  error  if  I  have  left  the 
impression  that  Dr.  Crothers  lives  aloft,  writ¬ 
ing  exquisite  essays  in  an  ivory  tower,  aloof 
from  the  interests  and  agitations  of  his  age. 
Not  so.  If  to  many  he  seems  to  live  apart,  his 
very  detachment  gives  him  a  clearer  perspec¬ 
tive,  and  more  than  once  in  his  own  communion 
he  has  relieved  the  tension  as  much  by  his  wis¬ 
dom  as  by  his  humour.  Some  years  ago  when 
John  Haynes  Holmes  proposed,  in  a  brilliant 
speech,  to  commit  the  Unitarian  church  to  a 
definite  programme  of  reform,  it  was  Dr. 
Crothers  who  made  protest,  not  against  reform, 


Samuel  McChord  Crothers  149 

but  against  tying  the  church  to  particular 
schemes.  It  was  a  picturesque  occasion,  and 
while  he  had  to  pay  the  penalty  of  being  a  man 
of  humour,  his  triumph  was  due  to  sound  sense. 
His  protest  was  in  behalf  of  freedom,  and 
against  any  kind  of  coercion — whether  by  con¬ 
servative  or  radical — and  wisdom  was  on  his 
side.  First  find  your  dogma,  and  then  adapt 
yourself  to  it — such  was  the  archaic  method. 
It  does  not  work  theologically,  and  he  did  not 
believe  it  would  work  sociologically  either.  In 
other  words,  he  did  not  want  a  new  sectarian¬ 
ism  for  the  old,  but  freedom  in  the  largest, 
fullest  sense — liberty  of  prophesying,  and  “the 
liberty  of  not  believing  more  than  half  the 
prophet  says/'  He  said  that  if  he  had  been  in 
Jerusalem  when  Jeremiah  proposed  to  let  Nebu¬ 
chadnezzar  punish  the  nation  as  the  scourge  of 
God,  he  would  have  voted  against  him.  The 
kind  of  prophets  he  likes  are  “prophets  that 
have  some  sense,  and  a  prophetic  fervour  be¬ 
hind”  ;  as  if  any  age  ever  regarded  its  prophets 
as  sensible !  In  the  same  address  he  said : 

A  year  or  two  ago  a  revivalist  came  to  Bos¬ 
ton  preaching  the  new  evangelism.  The  min- 


150  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

isters  met  together  and  had  daily  meetings  to 
stir  the  conscience  of  Boston,  to  bring  again 
the  old  sense  of  sin.  He  was  a  good  preacher. 
As  a  practical  application  of  his  preaching,  the 
evangelist  said  to  the  business  men  who  had 
come  to  the  noonday  meetings,  “Let  us  go  and 
march  in  a  procession  to  find  and  save  the 
sinners.”  Where  do  you  think  they  went? 
They  went  up  into  the  North  End  of  Boston. 
A  gentleman  coming  out  of  the  meeting  said 
to  me,  “That  ends  my  interest  in  it:  why  did 
they  not  go  on  State  street?”  The  ethical  ques¬ 
tions  of  today  are  like  the  ethical  questions  of 
the  time  when  slavery  was  a  source  of  revenue 
to  good  people.  They  go  deep,  sometimes  they 
touch  your  interests  and  mine,  and  earnest  men 
know  that  full  well.  Every  attempt  to  found  a 
church  today  on  glittering  generalities,  where 
the  preacher  does  not  dare  to  follow  to  its 
practical  and  necessary  issues  the  religion  of 
the  present  generation,  has  no  future:  it  has 
no  interest  for  the  young.  ...  I  believe  these 
are  great  days,  interesting  days  for  the  young 
men  who  are  about  to  enter  the  ministry — men 
of  clearness,  of  sagacity,  of  patience,  of  com¬ 
mon  sense,  all  mixed  up  with  a  great  sense  of 
humour.  If  they  are  patient  enough  and  do  not 
allow  things  to  get  too  much  on  their  nerves, 
they  are  going  to  win  out. 

Some  think  Dr.  Crothers  is  at  his  best  in  his 
Harvard  lecture  on  The  Endless  Life ,  if  only 


Samuel  McChord  Crothers  151 

because  he  has  described  once  for  all  that  of 
which — when  the  clouds  are  off  our  souls — 
we  dare  assert  immortality.  There  he  moves 
in  a  realm  of  moral  and  spiritual. values,  where 
his  calm  and  clear  insight  shines  like  a  friendly 
beacon.  The  future  life,  at  once  the  polar 
expedition  of  philosophy  and  the  polar  star  of 
faith,  becomes  in  his  hands  a  quest  of  the 
quality  of  life  which  reveals  its  own  eternity. 
For  him  the  final  assurance  is  “the  confidence 
of  the  simple  man  who  stands  in  his  integrity 
undaunted  by  death”;  and  while  he  does  not 
profess  to  see  “the  lights  o'  Dover,”  he  leaves 
us  confident,  but  not  curious — knowing  that 
all  is  well  because  man  brings  down  to  the  Gate 
of  the  Mist  something  that  ought  not  to  die. 


IX:  T.  Reaveley  Glover 

In  August,  1918,  while  waiting  for  a  steamer 
to  take  me  to  America  on  a  speaking  tour,  I 
heard  six  of  a  series  of  eight  sermons  by  Dr., 
Glover  at  Westminster  Chapel.  He  was 
preaching  at  the  Chapel  for  a  month,  Dr. 
Jowett  being  away  on  a  holiday,  and  the  theme 
of  his  series  dealt  with  “Jesus  in  the  Ex¬ 
perience  of  Men.”  Since  that  time  he  has 
written  a  book  under  the  same  title,  as  a  sequel 
to  his  Jesus  of  History;  but  the  sermons  were 
different  from  the  chapters  of  the  book  when 
it  appeared.  In  some  ways  they  were  better 
than  the  book,  one  of  them,  for  example,  being 
in  the  form  of  a  story,  telling  how  the  first 
statue  of  Jesus  as  the  Good  Shepherd  was 
carved.  They  were  not  lectures,  but  preaching 
of  a  very  real  kind,  at  once  stimulating  and 
searching.,  It  was  interesting  to  study  the 
congregations,  many  of  whom  were  ministers 
— most  of  them  on  holiday,  like  myself — and 

all  eager  to  hear  Dr.  Glover.  It  is  always  so, 

152 


T.  Reaveley  Glover  153 

whenever  and  wherever  he  speaks.  In  my  diary 
I  find  the  following  entry  recalling  those 
summer  days: 

August  12,  1918: — -Whether  I  get  a  steamer 
or  not  does  not  much  matter,  so  long  as  Dr. 
Glover  preaches  at  the  Westminster  Chapel. 
His  series  of  sermons  on  the  Jesus  of  Ex¬ 
perience  will  make  as  rich  a  book  as  his  studies 
of  the  Jesus  of  History.  A  layman  who  is  a 
Doctor  of  Divinity,  an  orator  with  an  atrocious 
elocution,  he  is  a  scholar  who  knows  more  than 
the  law  allows  any  one  man  to  know.  At  times 
his  manner  suggests  a  professor  in  a  class¬ 
room,  but  he  is  a  truly  great  preacher — simple, 
direct,  earnest,  with  no  thought  other  than  to 
make  clear  his  vision  of  Jesus  in  the  lives  of 
men.  Rarely  have  I  heard  sermons  so  packed 
with  forthright  thinking  and  fruitful  insight.. 
There  is  ripe  scholarship  without  pedantry  and 
noble  eloquence  without  oratory.  Perhaps  the 
outstanding  impression  is  a  fresh,  vivid  sense 
of  reality,  as  of  one  who  is  looking  straight  at 
the  truth  he  is  talking  about.  He  “speaks 
things,”  as  Cromwell  would  say.  Vital  faith 
and  fearless  thinking  are  joined  with  a  convic¬ 
tion  of  the  genuineness  of  the  man,  and  his 
knowledge  of  Jesus  in  his  own  experience.  He 
dodges  no  issue,  no  fact,  no  difficulty,  and 
his  knowledge  of  the  social,  intellectual  and 
spiritual  world  in  which  Jesus  lived,  and  in 
which  the  church  began  her  morning  march, 


154  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

is  extraordinary.  He  has  a  curious  power  of 
taking  us  back  into  those  times.  There  are 
many  ministries,  but  one  Spirit.  Some  are 
prophets,  some  evangelists,  some  teachers.  Dr., 
Glover  is  a  great  teacher  of  the  truth  as  it  is  in 
Jesus. 

The  first  sermon  of  the  series  was  preached 
on  August  4th,  the  anniversary  of  that  dark 
day,  four  years  before,  when  England  entered 
the  war.  Memories  of  that  great  decision, 
thoughts  of  its  meaning,  its  cost  in  blood  and 
sorrow,  filled  all  our  minds ;  and  instead  of  the 
morning  prayer  Dr.  Glover  talked  to  us  out 
of  a  full  heart,  in  the  gentle  words  which  men 
use  when  they  speak  of  such  matters.,  What 
is  the  meaning  of  this  “long-lived  storm  of 
great  events  ?”  he  asked.  What  difference  has 
it  made?  It  is  the  task  of  the  church,  if  it  is 
to  be  the  priest  of  God  to  the  nation,  to  trace 
and  measure  the  reactions  of  events  in  the 
deeper  life  of  the  people.  How  does  it  stand 
today  in  that  inner  life  of  thought,  of  motive, 
of  faith,  down  where  “the  shell-burred  cables 
creep  ?”  The  Bible,  and  especially  the  Old 
Testament,  is  a  record  of  the  reactions  in  the 
life  of  a  nation  to  the  terrible  deeds  of  God., 


T.  Reaveley  Glover  155 

The  Assyrian  army  lives  in  the  inner  life  of 
man,  because  through  its  movements  the  soul 
of  Isaiah  was  given  new  reach  and  range  of 
vision.  When  Titus  destroyed  Jerusalem  he 
released  into  the  world  a  new  Israel,  the  church 
of  Christ.  Acts  which  absorb  the  minds  of 
men  at  the  moment  live  afterwards  chiefly  in 
the  literature  of  the  soul.  Will  it  be  so  today? 
Surely  he  who  awakened  the  soul  of  Israel 
through  the  march  of  the  Assyrian  host,  has 
some  word  to  speak  in  this  terror  and  tumult. 
Who  will  read  for  us  the  new  and  living  Word 
of  God,  written  in  the  facts  and  events  of  the 
day?  Are  there  elect  souls  who  can  hear  for 
others  the  still  small  voice  speaking  in  the 
storm?  Then  he  asked  all  to  join  in  the  Lord’s 
Prayer,  as  alone  adequate  to  upbear  the 
thoughts  and  yearnings  of  the  hour.  Never 
have  I  heard  that  brief,  grand  prayer  so  sur¬ 
charged  with  feeling,  lifting  a  troubled  people 
into  the  fellowship  and  consolation  of  God. 

The  sermon  which  followed  had  two  texts — 
1  Cor.  2:8,  and  Heb.  8:8 — portraying  Christ 
the  same  yesterday,  today  and  forever,  in  con¬ 
trast  with  the  phantasmagoria  of  “world- 
rulers  of  the  darkness”  which  haunted  the 


156  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

ancient  world.  In  Paradise  Lost  we  see 
that  daemon  world,  “thrones,  dominions,  prin¬ 
cipalities  and  powers,”  in  its  most  glorious 
form,  but  we  do  not  realise  how  real  and 
terrifying  it  was  to  the  ancient  mind.  To  us 
all  that  history  of  war  in  the  spirit  sphere  is  a 
dim,  shadowy  mythology,  but  to  the  men  of 
that  day  it  was  real,  proven  by  long  belief,  and 
confirmed  by  the  best  and  most  catholic  of 
philosophic  thinkers.  Indeed,  it  was  more  real 
than  Jesus.  He,  and  not  the  daemon  dominions, 
was  the  doubtful  element.  For  us  the  whole 
thing  has  vanished,  like  the  baseless  fabric  of 
a  dream.  We  do  not  believe  it.  We  think  no 
more  of  it,  neither  about  Satan,  nor  his  hosts. 
But  if  the  legend  of  spirits  at  war  was  a  part 
of  the  early  Christian  faith,  what  becomes  of 
Jesus?  Is  he  going  too,  along  with  the  rest 
of  the  strange  tales,  to  take  his  place  among 
the  old  imaginings?  No;  Jesus  abides  and 
grows,  first,  because  he  is  rooted  in  historic 
fact,  as  actual  and  well  attested  a  figure  in 
history  as  any  one  of  us.  Men  knew  him,  saw 
him,  spoke  with  him.  He  was  as  definitely  his¬ 
torical  as  Caesar  himself.  Second,  he  abides 


T.  Reaveley  Glover  157 

because,  even  today,  he  is  more  real  than  any 
of  us,  revealed  in  the  depth,  intensity,  and  ful¬ 
ness  of  his  experience  both  of  the  dark  facts  of 
life  and  of  the  reality  of  God.  Further,  he 
abides  because  he  is  still  unexhausted ;  because 
the  race  has  not  yet  used  to  the  full  his  ex¬ 
perience  of  life  and  his  intuitions  of  God. 
There  is  no  example  in  history  of  a  great  per¬ 
sonality  putting  a  lesson  to  the  world  and  pass- 
% 

ing  away  before  the  lesson  is  learned  to  the 
very  end,  and  transcended.  So  far  from 
transcending  Jesus,  we  are  still  far,  very  far, 
behind  him.  The  closing  passages  of  the 
sermon  were  memorable,  as  much  for  their 
vital  insight  as  for  the  quiet,  compelling 
earnestness  of  the  preacher;  so  much  so  that, 
looking  toward  the  pulpit,  we  saw  no  man  but 
Jesus  only. 

So  far  as  I  understand  these  modern  times 
in  which  we  live,  religion  is  only  possible  to  the 
modern  man  along  the  lines  of  Jesus  Christ. 
For  you  and  me  there  are  no  other  religions. 
Of  course,  there  are  people  who  play  at  being 
Buddhists  and  Hindus;  and  we  may  wonder 
what  the  reflective  Buddhist  and  the  reflective 
Hindu  think  of  them.  All  sorts  of  poses  are 
adopted  by  men  and  women,  but  serious 


158  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

thinkers  do  not  pose,  and  any  man  who  comes 
to  grips  with  history  and  philosophy  knows 
that  Buddha  and  Mohammed  and  the  Hindu 
sages  are  not  for  us.  It  is  Jesus  or  nobody, 
and  we  have  not  exhausted  what  he  has  to  say. 
The  plain  fact  is  that  God  for  Jesus,  God  in 
Jesus,  is  an  unexplored  treasure  still;  and  for 
us,  apart  from  Jesus,  God  is  little  better  than 
an  abstract  noun;  and,  as  I  grow  older,  I  find 
abstract  nouns  of  less  and  less  use.  Let  us 
put  it  this  way.  If  we  spoke  straight  out  we 
should  say  that  God  could  not  do  better  than 
follow  the  example  of  Jesus.  That  means  that 
Jesus  fulfils  our  conception  of  God,  but  that 
is  not  enough.  He  is  constantly  enlarging  our 
idea  of  God,  revealing  great  tracts  of  God  un¬ 
suspected  by  us.  God  interpretable  in  and 
through  Jesus  is  unexhausted  by  you  and  me. 
That  means  that  Jesus  is  going  to  stay. 

I  have  not  touched  the  fourth  point  yet, 
which  is  less  theoretical  than  any  of  the  others. 
There  are  about  us  hundreds  of  men  and  wom¬ 
en  who  have  found  that  in  the  terrible  business 
of  keeping  level  with  life  in  the  more  terrible 
business  of  fighting  one’s  character  through  to 
something  like  decency,  Jesus  is  still  a  depend¬ 
able  factor.  We  are  not  dealing  with  propo¬ 
sitions  in  the  air ;  we  are  dealing  with  Someone 
to  whom  we  can  go  and  say,  “Come  and  help 
me,”  and  he  does.  If  some  of  the  psychologists 
will  not  quite  let  us  say  that,  they  must  concede 
that  we  find  help  when  we  bring  him  in.  In 


T.  Reaveley  Glover  159 

other  words,  where  you  touch  Jesus  you  touch 
the  real  still.  Is  not  that  true?  Do  you  not 
know  men  and  women  who  have  been  remade 
by  Jesus  Christ?  In  your  own  lives,  too,  you 
know  that  help  that  Jesus  has  been  and  is.  The 
fact  that  you  can  depend  upon  him,  that  you 
can  utilise  him,  means  that  he  stays. 

My  last  point  is  this :  If  all  this  is  so,  do  not 
we  feel  again  the  importance  of  keeping  the 
gaze  fixed  upon  him?  That  beautiful  verse  in 
Hebrews  speaks  of  “Looking  away  and  fixing 
the  eyes  upon  Jesus" — keeping  full  in  the  fore¬ 
front,  not  a  theological  figure,  but  the  real,  one, 
true,  vivid  Jesus ;  yesterday  and  today  the  same, 
and  forever;  tender,  intelligent,  sympathetic, 
wonderful,  available;  just  the  kind  of  Jesus  to 
whom  people  went  with  every  sort  of  trouble, 
lost  children,  the  storm  at  sea,  all  sorts  and 
kinds  of  things;  the  Jesus  who  could  be  inter¬ 
rupted  by  mothers  with  little  children ;  and  like 
it;  the  Jesus  who  took  his  friends  away  and 
lay  under  the  trees  with  them  when  they  were 
tired;  the  Jesus  who  knew  their  problems  and 
helped  them.  Let  us  remember  in  all  our  think¬ 
ing  that  Jesus  in  glory — and  I  do  not  know 
much  about  glory — is  the  same,  and  is  to  be 
interpreted  by  those  stories  of  his  life  which  we 
know  so  well  in  the  gospels,  and  that  he  is  not 
more  inaccessible  now  than  he  was  then,  but 
better  proved,  better  attested,  better  known, 
and  more  available  for  you  and  me.  “Who 
shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ?" 


160  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

Of  course  the  volume  discussing  Jesus  in 
the  Experience  of  Men ,  as  we  now  have  it, 
contains  much  more  than  the  eight  sermons 
delivered  in  Westminster  Chapel.  All  the 
sermons  were  recast  and  extended,  losing  much 
in  essay  form,  and  the  story  of  the  Good  Shep¬ 
herd  was  omitted  entirely — much  to  my  regret.1 
Six  other  chapters  were  added,  none  more 
arresting  than  the  one  entitled  “The  Compro¬ 
mising  Church,”  in  which  we  hear  a  layman 
speaking  very  plainly  about  the  narrowness 
and  cowardice  of  the  church.  The  complaint 
of  educated  people,  he  says,  is  that  the  church, 
for  all  its  talk,  is  unsympathetic  with  progress 

Un  a  later  book,  entitled  The  Pilgrim,  made  up  of  various 
articles  and  sketches,  I  am  glad  to  see  that  Dr.  Glover  has 
included  the  story  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  referred  to  above. 
•Somehow,  in  spite  of  its  richness  of  thought  and  insight, 
Jesus  in  the  Experience  of  Men  does  not  have  the  same  sat¬ 
isfying  appeal  as  The  Jesus  of  History  did.  A  young  English 
minister  states  the  matter  briefly  in  a  letter:  “The  simple, 
searching  style  of  sentence  is  missing  for  the  most  part;  there 
is  a  hesitancy  of  thought,  a  subconscious  bewilderment,  as 
though  the  subject  was  too  great  to  handle — as  indeed  it  is, 
since  the  whole  world  could  hardly  contain  the  books  that 
could  be  written  on  such  a  theme.  Dr.  Glover,  as  historian, 
describes  the  world  with  the  light  of  the  Master’s  presence 
around  him ;  but  he  fails  when  he  turns  to  describe  the  light 
itself.  The  reader  has  the  feeling  that  he  is  being  led  to  a 
new  focus  of  experience,  but  when  he  has  finished  the  book 
he  is  still  waiting  for  the  promise  which  the  writer  holds  out. 
Yet  there  are  sentences  that  stick  in  the  mind:  ‘The  death  of 
Jesus  lit  up  the  heart  of  God’ :  ‘The  stars  themselves  move 
on  the  lines  of  Jesus’:  ‘Prescribed  thinking  is  proscribed 
thinking.’  ” 


T.  Reaveley  Glover  161 

and  with  intellectual  advance.  It  is  mistrustful 
of  art,  and  afraid  of  science  and  socialism;  it 
clings  to  out-of-date  scholarship  and  pre-Chris¬ 
tian  psychology,  and  presses  philanthropy 
without  economics  and  missions  without  an¬ 
thropology.  So  far  from  representing  Jesus  to 
the  world,  it  has  made  him  odious  to  the  in¬ 
telligent  mind.  He  does  not  mince  matters  in 
denouncing  the  alliance  of  English  religion 
with  special  privilege,  and  its  economic  ortho¬ 
doxy.  Its  weak  spot  has  always  been  its  un¬ 
certainty  what  to  make  of  Jesus,  and  its  un¬ 
willingness  to  obey  him.  “Its  associations 
tainted  with  capitalism;  its  creed  mere  jargon 
— what  is  to  help  the  church?”  he  asks.  Still, 
he  has  faith  in  the  church  triumphant — when 
the  church  has  dropped  its  reluctance  to  take 
Jesus  seriously,  when  it  believes  he  means  what 
he  says,  and  when  it  is  willing  to  believe  that 
Jesus  and  truth  will  prevail. 

Such  is  the  preaching  of  a  great  layman,  who 
is  also  a  great  scholar,  a  historian  of  authority, 
and  the  Public  Orator  of  the  University  of 
Cambridge.  Even  these  excerpts  from  a  single 
sermon  show  how  real  and  vital  his  preaching 
is.  There  is  hardly  any  man  now  living  from 


162  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

whom  preachers  may  learn  more,  except  in 
his  manner  of  delivery,  and  that  is  soon  for¬ 
gotten  in  the  vividness  of  his  insight  and 
appeal.  Few  men  unite  as  he  does  those  three 
rarest  of  gifts,  accurate  knowledge,  the  ability 
to  describe  what  he  knows  as  if  it  were  a  new 
discovery,  and  to  do  so  in  words  which  anybody 
can  understand.  One  of  the  greatest  of  living 
scholars,  he  is  the  least  bookish  of  men,  and 
the  learned  and  the  unlearned  alike  hear  him 
gladly.  His  amazing  knowledge  never  obscures 
the  freshness  of  his  vision.  The  Life  of  Jesus 
loses  much  of  its  power  by  sheer  familiarity; 
we  know  it  so  well  that  we  hardly  know  it  at 
all.  But  when  Dr.  Glover  writes  of  the  Jesus 
of  History,  the  old,  old  story  is  so  real,  so  liv¬ 
ing,  that  we  seem  almost  to  be  listening  to  it 
for  the  first  time.  Arnold  says  that  Gray 
doubled  his  force  by  his  style.  The  same  is 
true  of  Dr.  Glover,  whose  style  is  as  lucid,  as 
virile,  as  direct  as  his  thought,  and  withal  rich 
in  rhythm  and  colour,  with  now  a  flash  of  crim¬ 
son  and  now  a  gleam  of  gold.  Above  all,  he 
bases  himself  on  experience;  in  all  his  preach¬ 
ing  the  emphasis  falls  on  fact  that  can  be  tested 
and  relied  on.  No  man  can  hear  him  without 


T.  Reaveley  Glover  163 

feeling  that  he  is  dealing  with  realities,  and 
that  he  will  not  go  an  inch  beyond  what  he  sees 
to  be  verifiable  and  true. 

There  are  those  who  say  that  the  preaching 
of  Dr.  Glover,  and  his  religious  thinking  in 
general,  is  too  individualistic.  It  is  a  strange 
criticism  to  one  who  knows  his  writings,  as,  for 
example,  his  Angus  lectures  on  The  Christian 
Tradition  and  its  Verification,  in  which  his 
appeal,  as  always,  is  to  the  Christian  experience 
of  the  ages,  communal  and  cumulative,  as 
against  the  errors  of  individual  insight.  Better 
still,  because  in  briefer  form,  is  the  Swarth- 
more  lecture  on  The  Nature  and  Purpose  of  a 
Christian  Society:  a  little  gem,  worth  its 
weight  in  gold.  When  asked  why,  in  a  lecture 
delivered  to  a  Yearly  Meeting  of  the  Society 
of  Friends,  he  took  such  a  turn,  he  said  that 
he  did  it  deliberately  and  of  set  purpose,  in 
order  to  appeal  to  the  experience  of  the  historic 
church ;  whereas  the  Quaker  differentia  is,  for 
the  most  part,  an  appeal  against  the  historic 
church,  “the  apostasy/’  in  fact,  to  quote  George 
Fox.  For,  he  added,  “I  believe  that  any  real 
light  that  comes  to  man  from  God,  directly  or 
indirectly,  will  be  confirmed  by  the  light  that 


164  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

comes  to  others  from  him.  It  is  for  some  such 
reason  that  I  appeal  to  the  experience  of  the 
historic  church.”  As  a  study  of  the  experience 
of  the  church,  its  creative  fellowship,  the  type 
of  character  and  quality  of  personality  it  has 
produced,  as  well  as  the  body  of  truth  which 
has  been,  and  remains,  its  unique  treasure,  it 
would  be  hard  to  name  another  little  book 
like  it. 

However,  it  is  with  Dr.  Glover  the  preacher 
— not  the  scholar,  the  historian,  or  the  literary 
critic — that  we  have  now  to  do;  doubly  so  be¬ 
cause  he  is  a  layman,  and  ministers  need  to 
know  what  kind  of  sermons  a  great  layman 
preaches.  As  a  further  example,  and  one  show¬ 
ing  not  only  the  depth  and  simplicity  of  his 
faith,  but  also  his  skill  in  direct  appeal,  in  the 
use  of  familiar  language,  and  his  habit  of 
avoiding  the  set  phrases  of  theology,  let  us 
take  one  of  the  noblest  sermons  of  which  I 
have  any  knowledge,  entitled  “Why  Jesus  is 
My  Master.”  Five  reasons  are  given  for  his 
willingness  to  be  called  a  “slave”  of  Jesus. 
Being  a  man  of  modern  education — critical, 
hesitating,  sceptical — he  finds  that  intellectually 
Jesus  is  the  clearest  and  sincerest  Teacher  that 


T.  Reaveley  Glover  165 

man  has.  It  does  not  matter  that  he  lived  long 
ago.  It  is  not  the  date,  but  the  depth  that 
counts,  and  Jesus  went  to  the  bottom  of  things 
once  for  all.  The  lucidity  of  his  moral  vision 
is  only  equalled  by  his  faith  in  man.  Indeed, 
he  is  the  only  teacher  who  really  offers  any 
hope  for  humanity,  any  way  out  of  the  pit  of 
personal  and  social  sin.  What  is  more  to  the 
point,  he  not  only  has  hope  for  man,  but  he  has 
the  power  to  pick  us  up  and  set  us  on  our  feet 
when  we  slip  and  fall  into  the  mire.  His  magic 
of  personality,  and  his  skill  in  making  and  lead¬ 
ing  men,  compel  his  abject  surrender  and 
devotion. 

Who  is  the  leader  that  you  want  to  find? 
What  sort  of  a  spirit?  How  does  he  handle 
men?  You  know  the  difference  between  one 
man  and  another;  how  one  may  steal  a  horse 
and  the  other  may  not  look  over  the  hedge. 
Why?  Because  it  is  he  that  takes  the  horse; 
it  is  just  him.  That  is  not  grammar  perhaps, 
but  it  is  human  experience.  What  is  it  about 
him?  somebody  asks.  I  do  not  know,  but  it 
is  in  him.  Here  is  a  story — a  true  one.  It 
comes  from  Italy,  from  one  of  the  great  periods 
of  Garibaldi.  He  had  conquered  Sicily  for 
Italy,  he  had  conquered  a  large  part  of  the 
Neapolitan  kingdom  on  the  mainland,  and  was 


i66  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

held  up  on  a  river.  A  well-known  Englishman 
drifted  into  the  camp,  and  while  strolling  about 
came  upon  a  soldier  in  rags.  The  terms  in 
which  Garibaldi  enlisted  his  men  were  these: 
he  paid  them  nothing,  he  gave  them  no  clothes, 
he  gave  them  no  food,  and  if  they  looted  the 
Italians  he  shot  them.  The  Englishman  got 
to  talking  with  the  boy  in  rags  about  the  situa¬ 
tion.  Yes,  he  was  depressed.  He  said:  “The 
other  day,  as  I  was  sitting  here  on  the  hill,  I 
was  wondering  how  long  I  could  stand  it,  or 
whether  I  would  go,  desert.  Things  had  got  so 
far,  then  he  came  by.  I  had  never  spoken  to 
him.  But  he  saw  me  and  came  up  to  me,  and 
clapped  me  on  the  shoulder  and  said,  'Courage, 
tomorrow  we  shall  fight  for  our  country !’  Do 
you  think  I  could  go  after  that?” 

Now,  what  is  that?  We  call  it  personal 
magnetism.  I  do  not  know  quite  what  that 
means;  it  is  just  a  long  way  of  saying,  “It's 
him.”  That  is  the  reason  why  Jesus  enlists 
people  to  stand  with  him.  There  is  something 
about  him  that,  as  you  get  to  know  him,  makes 
it  impossible  to  have  anything  but  enthusiasm 
for  him.  The  more  you  know  of  him  the  more 
He  is.  The  great  regret  of  a  Christian  man 
is  that  he  has  not  served  him  enough ;  that  he 
has  not  more  to  give  him.  That  is  the  ex¬ 
perience  of  the  Christian  church.  It  is  always 
the  Person :  the  highest  thing  we  can  guess  of 
God,  his  personality.  And  here  is  one  who 
comes  into  our  midst,  a  person  full  of  power 


T.  Reaveley  Glover  167 

and  charm.  He  takes  our  lives  and  makes 
good  things  out  of  them.  He  takes  our  temp¬ 
tations  and  beats  them  down  under  our  feet. 
He  forgives  our  sins ;  he  restores  us ;  goes  with 
us,  loves  us  and  is  ours.  Do  you  wonder  why 
men  and  women  want  to  be  called  the  slaves  of 
Jesus  Christ? 

I  want  to  put  this  to  some  of  you :  Can  you 
face  up  to  what  he  is?  Can  you  see  what  he 
has  done  for  men?  What  he  has  made  of  men, 
what  he  has  enabled  them  to  do,  the  way  in 
which  he  has  used  them  for  the  everlasting 
happiness  and  betterment  of  the  race?  Can 
you  see  that  and  say,  “I  do  not  think  he  has 
anything  for  me?”  He  has,  and  that  is  the 
gospel;  that  he  who  enlisted  others,  charmed 
them,  kept  them,  used  them,  is  going  to  enlist 
you,  and  he  is  going  to  do  with  you  more  than 
you  dream.  How  old  are  you?  Eighteen? 
Forty?  Fifty?  There  is  no  telling  what  Jesus 
Christ  can  do  with  a  man  or  woman  once  they 
have  surrendered.  What  I  urge  is  that  you 
surrender  to  him.  That  is  all. 


X:  S.  Parkes  Cadman 


In  writing  about  Dr.  Cadman,  even  if  one 
shares  his  breadth  of  sympathy,  one  craves 
something  of  his  rare  gift  of  insight  and 
characterisation;  the  more  because  he  is  so 
baffling  to  all  analysis.  He  admires  widely, 
and  with  catholic  appreciation;  he  can  praise 
both  Lacordaire  and  Gipsy  Smith,  and  is  as 
much  at  home  with  Newman  as  with  Wesley. 
At  once  generous  and  discerning,  dynamic  and 
gentle,  he  is  so  many-sided,  so  fertile,  so  amaz¬ 
ing  in  his  activities,  and  withal  so  human  and 
lovable,  that  he  puzzles  any  artist  because  he  is 
so  unlike  any  model.  The  spaciousness  and 
majesty  of  his  thought,  the  swiftness  and 
felicity  of  his  delivery,  the  enchantment  of  his 
personality,  leave  one  with  a  sense  of  dismay. 
Some  years  ago  an  English  friend,  having 
heard  Dr.  Cadman  at  Whitefield’s  in  the  morn¬ 
ing  and  Dr.  Gunsaulus  at  the  City  Temple  in 
the  evening,  confided  to  me  his  impressions: 


S.  Parkes  Cadman  169 

Two  of  your  prophets  held  central  citadels  in 
“ye  olde  London  town”  today,  much  to  our 
edification.  They  differ  as  much  from  each 
other  in  type  as  do  the  men  whose  pulpits  they 
occupied,  Horne  and  Campbell;  but  both  are 
princes  of  the  invisible.  Cadman  is  not  an 
impressive  figure  in  the  pulpit — until  he  begins 
to  speak.  Then  the  whole  man  lights  up.  His 
voice  has  some  unusual  tone  qualities  and  rare 
carrying  power.  Sturdy,  broad  of  shoulder, 
with  close-cropped  brown  hair  touched  with 
grey,  he  is  as  decisive  in  movement  as  he  is 
direct  in  speech.  He  speaks,  through  his  whole 
personality,  of  energy  and  intellect.  His 
closely  knit  argument,  his  still  more  closely  knit 
sentences,  finely  phrased  but  delivered  with 
passionate  rapidity,  overwhelm  by  the  power  of 
reason  at  white  heat.  An  excerpt  is  like  an 
amputation.  A  note  directly  opposite,  but  not 
opposed,  is  struck  by  Gunsaulus,  who  is  an 
impressionist  artist  in  words,  relying  more  on 
illustration  and  colour.  The  sermon  of  Cad¬ 
man  was  that  of  an  architect  producing  a  splen¬ 
did  effect  as  a  whole  by  infinite  attention  to 
detail.  Gunsaulus  is  a  man  of  large,  strong 
gesture,  of  lyrical  speech,  in  which  a  haunting 
voice  and  poetic  thought  blend  to  win  by  beauty 
rather  than  compel  by  power.  He  is  dramatic 
rather  than  argumentative.  Something  of  the 
crooning  magnetism  of  Gipsy  Smith  is  tem¬ 
pered  in  him  by  a  large  and  rich  culture.  Cad¬ 
man  revealed  throughout  his  extraordinary 


170  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

power  of  literary  phrasing,  and  if  the  impres¬ 
sion  he  makes  is  more  intellectual  than  spiritual, 
it  is  both  virile  and  challenging.  America  is 
happy  in  having  two  men  of  such  rare  gifts, 
one  on  the  eastern  seaboard  and  the  other  in 
the  Middle  West. 


Unfortunately,  Dr.  Cadman  has  published 
no  volume  of  sermons,  so  far  as  I  am  aware ; 1 
and  one  must  depend  upon  newspaper  reports — 
especially  those  in  the  Brooklyn  Eagle ,  which 
is  in  fact  a  great  pulpit  with  one  Amen  Corner 
in  New  England  and  the  other  in  Florida,  with 
the  Rocky  Mountains  for  a  gallery.  For  a 
long  time,  though  I  had  heard  Dr.  Cadman 
lecture,  I  knew  him  as  a  preacher  only  in  his 
reported  sermons,  and  that  is  hardly  to  know 
him  at  all,  since  there  is  so  much  in  the  per¬ 
sonality  of  the  man — Rooseveltian  in  its 

'One  does  not  forget  his  brilliant  volume  of  lectures, 
Charles  Darwin  and  other  English  Thinkers;  as  valuable  for 
its  portrayal  of  the  background  and  setting  of  the  men  studied, 
as  for  its  analysis  of  their  thought.  Some  of  us  think  The 
Three  Religious  Leaders  of  Oxford  the  best  bit  of  work 
Dr.  Cadman  has  done,  showing  his  powers  put  forth  at  full 
stretch  on  themes  congenial  to  his  mind  and  heart.  No  one 
may  ever  hope  to  find  a  more  satisfying  study  of  Wesley,  the 
wonder  of  whose  life  remains  as  baffling  as  it  is  fascinating — 
as  if  Benjamin  Franklin  had  become  the  greatest  evangelist 
since  St.  Paul.  Dr.  Denney,  in  his  Letters,  renews  our  amaze¬ 
ment,  but  does  not  solve  the  riddle  of  it.  If  Dr.  Cadman 
leaves  the  mystery  of  Newman  unsolved,  it  is  because  no  one 
can  unravel  it  until  the  secrets  of  all  hearts  are  known. 


S.  Parkes  Cadman  171 

energy,  enthusiasm,  and  winsomeness — that 
does  not  find  its  way  into  print.  So  it  was 
nothing  short  of  a  revelation  when  I  went  for 
the  first  time  to  Central  Church — the  “Tin 
Church,”  as  it  is  called  in  Brooklyn — taking 
with  me  a  discerning  friend  who  boasts  his 
ability  as  a  sermon-taster,  and  not  without 
good  reason,  for  he  listened  to  Beecher  for 
fifteen  years. 

The  Church  was  full,  though  not  crowded; 
the  audience  for  the  most  part  middle-aged 
people,  and  the  men  were  in  the  majority — 
hard-headed  business  and  professional  men 
apparently.  The  service  was  planned  and  con¬ 
ducted  by  a  man  who  is  not  simply  a  preacher, 
but  a  minister,  and  in  the  highest  and  best  sense 
a  sacramentarian ;  sane  enough  to  achieve  rich¬ 
ness  of  worship  without  too  much  ritual — just 
as  he  is  wise  enough  to  be  liberal  yet  evangelical 
in  faith.  There  was  about  the  man,  as  Carlyle 
would  say,  somewhat  of  the  Eternal.  When 
he  began  the  sermon  one  felt  that  he  regarded 
the  sermon  as  also  a  sacrament,  not  a  rostrum 
for  a  reputation  but  an  opportunity  to  lead 
men  to  God;  and  that  he  loves  men  too  well 
to  lead  them  anywhere  else.  There  he  stood, 


172  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

a  stockily-built  figure,  the  very  embodiment 
of  mental  efficiency  and  spiritual  sanity,  re¬ 
minding  me  of  a  passage  in  a  book  of  science 
describing  the  quality  called  vigour,  which  is 
evidently  something  4j|ore  than  strength,  some¬ 
thing  more  than  health;  a  capacity  for  living 
intensely,  yet  without  any  loss  of  balance,  a 
power  of  expending  energy  lavishly  yet  without 
ceasing  to  have  plenty  in  reserve,  an  ability 
to  resist  strain  and  to  defy  fatigue.  It  implies 
being  ever  ready  for  great  exertions  and  yet 
having  staying  power. 

The  sermon  was  entitled  ‘‘Treasures  in 
Christ” — Col.  2:3 — and  it  was  no  haphazard 
affair,  but  a  real  work  of  homiletic  art,  orderly 
in  arrangement,  exquisite  in  language,  apt  in 
illustration ;  but  its  art  was  forgotten  in 
the  effortless  ease — nay,  more,  the  rejoicing 
urgency — with  which  it  was  delivered.  It  had 
a  skeleton  and  was  athletic  enough  to  stand 
alone,  but  so  much  alive  that  its  bones  did  not 
stick  out  in  Firstly,  Secondly,  and  so  forth. 
It  was  a  characteristic  Cadman  sermon,  as 
much  for  its  vitality  as  for  its  distinction  of 
manner;  moving  in  a  large  orbit,  bright  with 
insight  and  epigram,  and  reminding  one  of 


S.  Parkes  Cadman  173 

David  Swing  in  the  great  names  with  which  it 
conjured.  Its  daring  and  far-ranging  general¬ 
isations  seemed  to  open  new  vistas  of  divine 
surprise,  until  we  saw  Christianity  as  the  centre 
and  synthesis  of  truth;  a  faith  simple,  catho¬ 
lic,  profound,  satisfying  the  thinker  and  alone 
equal  to  the  problem  of  redemption  in  its  tragic 
and  gigantic  modern  setting.  After  the  first 
ten  minutes  my  friend  the  sermon-taster  said 
it  was  glorified  glibness ;  at  the  end  he  thought 
it  nothing  less  than  miraculous.  And  no  won¬ 
der  ;  for  it  was  a  portrayal  of  the  uniqueness, 
comprehensiveness,  and  supremacy  of  the  liv¬ 
ing  Christ,  as  certain  of  its  sentences,  which 
my  friend  can  still  quote,  make  plain: 

We  reflect  upon  the  blind  gropings  and 
blurred  apprehension  of  venerable  faiths. 
Their  literature  is  translated  and  we  read  it 
with  curious  and  pathetic  interest.  The  scurvy 
gods  of  the  pantheons,  vindictive  and  weak, 
are  condemned  and  repudiated  by  us.  Men  may 
be  agnostic,  they  may  become  atheists,  but 
never  again  can  men  apprentice  themselves  to 
these  primitive  forms.  In  the  teaching  of  Jesus 
these  erstwhile  faiths  find  explanation.  They 
are  part  of  the  cosmic  process  in  religion; 
tragic,  but  significant,  overtures  ere  the  Lord 
of  men  appears  to  bring  them  to  God.  He 


174  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

gives  to  nature  heart  and  purpose.  He  shows 
that  the  very  ground  beneath  our  feet  is  sympa¬ 
thetic,  that  no  star  shines  or  pales  away  with¬ 
out  his  consent.  This  earthly  scene  becomes 
intelligible  in  him,  and  pain  and  sorrow  and 
death  cannot  be  understood  apart  from  his 
word  concerning  them. 

No  wonder  that  Christian  theology  is  hasten¬ 
ing,  under  pressure,  to  restore  central  authority 
to  the  doctrine  of  the  incarnation.  Christ 
himself,  no  book,  no  creed,  no  ecclesiastical 
form,  has  seized  the  life  of  this  age,  so  vast, 
so  complex  and  so  baffling,  and  now,  as  never, 
history  gives  him  testimony  and  the  ages 
chant:  “Thou  hast  the  words  of  eternal  life.” 
If  you  ask  why  this  changeless  power  over 
society  exists  in  Jesus,  the  only  reply  is,  because 
He  ever  lives  as  a  present  authority.  Other 
masters  are  an  echo;  He  is  a  voice.  They  died 
and  left  their  systems  to  the  blemish  of  time; 
He  controls  the  event  by  being  with  its  happen¬ 
ing.  Hence  the  adaptations  of  the  religion  He 
founded  among  different  races.  Christianity 
began  in  Rome,  hidden  in  the  catacombs,  and 
upward  it  came  to  rear  into  Italy’s  pure  and 
brilliant  skies  its  monuments  of  faith. 

Much  of  the  treasure  is  hidden,  but  since  the 
treasures  are  hidden  in  Christ,  they  are  as  safe 
as  He  is  and  as  abiding  as  His  eternity.  The 
mighty  strands  of  Brooklyn  Bridge  are  gath¬ 
ered  into  one  great  heart  of  masonry  at  either 
end,  and  there  buried  out  of  sight,  and  we  cross 


S.  Parkes  Cadman  175 

the  stream  in  safety.  So  the  complex  web  of 
life,  its  apparent  antinomies,  its  grief,  its  pain, 
its  ministries,  its  explanations,  are  gathered  up 
into  the  mighty  heart  of  Jesus,  and  whatever 
wonder  awaits  man,  however  fecund  his  dis¬ 
coveries  and  phenomenal  his  advances,  he  will 
continue  to  cross  the  gulfs  of  time  in  safety, 
since  life,  knowledge  and  wisdom  are  hidden 
with  Christ  in  God,  to  whom  be  glory  forever 
and  ever.  ... 

Next  evening  we  met  to  read  and  discuss  the 
sermon,  but,  alas,  the  report  of  it  in  the  Eagle 
was  only  an  elaborate  synopsis,  hardly  more 
than  a  thin  shadow  of  what  we  had  heard. 
Moreover  it  read  less  like  a  sermon  than  a 
lecture,  or  an  article  in  a  Review ;  so  much  does 
the  work  of  Dr.  Cadman  lose  when  his  per¬ 
sonality  is  withdrawn.  Something  was  lost. 
Glamour  was  not  the  word  to  describe  it,  be¬ 
cause  it  suggests  something  unreal,  and  the 
spell  which  he  cast  over  us  was  not  only  real, 
but  exalting  and  revealing.  However,  we 
agreed— reading  a  number  of  his  sermons  in 
the  glow  of  that  radiance — that  he  was  one 
of  the  best  natural  orators  we  had  ever  heard, 
for  his  grace,  ease,  fluency,  fertility,  and  re¬ 
source,  having  a  copious  vocabulary,  rich  in 


176  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

content  and  quality — albeit  lacking  at  times  in 
the  reticences  and  reserves  which  true  style 
requires.  Also,  his  studentship,  at  once  prodi¬ 
gious  and  omniverous,  filled  us  with  astonish¬ 
ment,  and  what  he  had  read  was  assimilated 
and  minted  in  his  own  mind.  Indeed,  he  is  one 
of  the  few  popular  preachers  who  really  cares 
for  learning,  and  his  knowledge  is  encyclo¬ 
pedical  in  its  accuracy  and  range.  As  a  maker 
of  sermons  he  is  unique,  alike  in  his  style  and 
his  skill,  but  hardly  the  equal  of  his  neighbour, 
Dr.  Hillis,  as  a  master  of  popular  homiletics. 
Strong,  vivid,  full-blooded — the  Rubens  of  the 
pulpit,  as  Jowett  is  its  Meissonier — he  is  a 
great  preacher  for  the  greatness  of  his  themes, 
no  less  than  for  the  virility  of  his  thought  and 
faith;  and  because  he  always  leaves  us  think¬ 
ing  and  wondering,  not  about  himself — his 
brilliant  mind,  his  incisive  reasoning,  his 
lambent  eloquence — but  about  the  great  things 
of  life;  about  God  and  man,  about  following 
Christ,  about  the  crown  of  sanctity  and  the 
building  of  that  city  which  hath  foundations. 

Of  books  about  preaching  by  great  preachers 
we  have  had  many,  and  the  value  of  each,  aside 
from  the  fresh  wisdom  of  experience  which  it 


S.  Parkes  Cadman  177 

teaches,  lies  in  the  unconscious  self-revelation 
of  its  author.  It  is  always  interesting  to  see 
how  a  master  workman  does  his  work,  though 
not  much  that  is  new  has  been  said  about  the 
technique  of  preaching  since  Phelps  and 
Broadus ;  and  little  has  been  added  to  its  history 
and  philosophy  since  Dykes,  Dargan,  and  Beh- 
rends.  Brilliant,  stimulating,  wise  in  practical 
counsel,  fruitful  alike  in  generalisation  and 
in  characterisation,  the  lectures  of  Dr.  Cad¬ 
man,  Ambassadors  of  God ,  are  disappointing 
in  their  personal  communicativeness,  as  com¬ 
pared,  for  example,  with  the  lectures  of 
Beecher,  Jefferson,  or  Quayle.  However,  it 
was  not  his  purpose  to  add  a  new  vade-mecum 
to  an  already  long  catalogue;  but,  rather,  to 
give  a  swift  survey  of  the  history,  philosophy 
and  practice  of  preaching,  the  better  to  show 
its  function  in  these  new  and  strange  times. 
No  man  among  us  is  better  fitted,  both  by 
knowledge  and  sure-footed  wisdom,  to  guide 
his  brethren  amid  the  bewildering  eddies,  cross¬ 
currents,  and  whirlpools  of  modern  life  and 
thought ;  and  therein  lies  the  chief  value  of  the 
book.  He  is  a  Greatheart  threading  the 
tangled  maze  of  the  modern  mind,  astray  in 


178  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

its  own  confusion,  and  telling  us  that  there  is 
nothing  to  dishearten  the  preacher  of  Christ 
in  the  agitations  and  misapprehensions  of  this 
ambiguous  age.  Unfortunately,  the  style  of 
the  lectures,  “loaded  with  polysyllabic  Latin- 
ity,”  is  often  a  disadvantage,  and  at  times  as 
ponderous  as  procession  of  elephants.  This  is 
due,  in  large  part,  to  the  fact  that  for  Dr. 
Cadman — as  for  Beecher — writing  is  a  drud¬ 
gery,  and  so  much  that  is  most  commanding 
and  winsome  in  the  man  breaks  through  words 
and  escapes.  Had  the  lectures  been  reported 
they  would  have  been  ten  times  better — aglow 
with  flashes  of  lightning  and  every  kind  of 
felicity  and  surprise,  which  only  an  audience 
can  evoke  from  the  preacher.  Despite  this 
limitation,  no  better  book  about  the  great  art, 
which  is  also  an  incarnation,  has  come  to  us 
in  many  a  day.  An  exalted  conception  of  the 
office  of  preaching,  a  romantic  sense  of  its  his¬ 
tory,  rich  experience,  wide  reading,  and  a 
vision  of  the  need  and  challenge  of  a  world 
troubled,  enthralled,  groping,  unite  to  give  us 
an  overwhelming  sense  of  the  divine  origin, 
worth,  and  permanent  function  of  the  gospel 
ministry.  Much  needed,  too,  especially  in 


S.  Parkes  Cadman  179 

America,  is  the  emphasis  upon  preaching  as 
itself  sacramental,  and  the  insistence  that  the 
sermon  is  not  a  thing  apart,  but  a  passage  in 
the  context  of  the  worship  which  it  seeks  to 
inspire,  direct,  and  interpret. 

Some  things  Dr.  Cadman  ought  to  explain  to 
his  brethren,  and  one  is  the  secret  by  which 
he  seems  to  have  all  that  he  has  ever  heard, 
read  or  thought  instantly  at  command,  as  if 
he  had  it  pigeonholed  in  his  mind  within  reach. 
It  is  almost  uncanny.  There  is  a  sentence  in 
the  Life  of  John  Sterling ,  by  Carlyle,  which 
describes  it  exactly:  “So  ready  lay  his  store 
of  knowledge  round  him,  so  perfect  was  his 
ready  utterance  of  the  same — in  coruscating 
wit,  in  jocund  drollery,  in  compact  articulated 
clearness  or  high  poignant  emphasis,  as  the 
case  required — he  was  a  match  for  any  man  in 
argument  before  a  crowd.”  Hence  a  ministry 
of  information,  no  less  than  of  inspiration,  in 
which  Dr.  Cadman  is  surpassed  by  no  living 
man.  He  reads  everything  and  forgets  noth¬ 
ing;  and  his  ability  to  summon  all  his  resources 
at  will — added  to  his  amazing  industry  in 
study,  his  painstaking  preparation,  and  his 
incredible  gift  of  speech — make  him  one  of  the 


180  Some  Living  Masters  of-  the  Pulpit 

great  public  teachers  of  his  time.  Nothing 
human  is  alien  to  Dr.  Cadman,  and  his  inter¬ 
pretative  insight  and  picturesque  eloquence 
mark  him  as  without  doubt  the  most  brilliant 
and  effective  popular  lecturer  since  Beecher — 
a  Christian  publicist,  a  former  of  intelligent 
national  opinion,  an  incomparable  champion  of 
fraternal  righteousness  and  practical  idealism, 
whose  personality  is  an  invaluable  asset  to  the 
republic. 

In  Brooklyn,  Dr.  Cadman  is  not  simply  a 
personality;  he  is  an  institution.  Not  alone  as 
orator,  but  as  pastor,  organiser,  citizen,  and 
friend,  he  is  a  leader  whose  authority  is  only 
equalled  by  his  sanity,  and  his  church  is  a  com¬ 
munity  force.  Keeping  his  pose  in  a  difficult 
time,  weighing  the  issues  carefully,  thrilling  in 
appeal,  terrific  in  denunciation,  during  the 
great  war  he  was  a  tower  of  strength,  not  only 
in  his  own  city,  but  all  over  the  land.  If  a 
vexed  question  agitates  the  public  mind,  or 
some  united  public  effort  is  needed  in  behalf 
of  the  public  good,  it  is  Dr.  Cadman  who 
crystallises  the  sentiment  and  best  judgment 
of  the  community.  His  conferences  for  men 
at  the  Bedford  Branch  of  the  Young  Men's 


S.  Parkes  Cadman  181 

Christian  Association  have  been  for  years  both 
a  local  and  a  national  forum,  and  a  feature  of 
Greater  New  York.  Week  after  week  he  holds 
a  vast  audience  of  men — perhaps  the  largest 
in  the  country — discussing  an  astonishing 
range  of  subjects,  and  in  addition  answering 
questions  dealing  with  every  conceivable  topic, 
from  the  character  of  Socrates  to  the  Passion 
Play  at  Hoboken.  There  he  is  in  his  glory, 
and  his  replies,  if  sometimes  oracular,  are  com¬ 
pounded  of  accurate  knowledge,  sanctified  com¬ 
mon  sense,  and  sparkling  wit,  equally  a  joy  to 
the  student  and  a  terror  to  the  crank  For 
example : 

Q— Do  you  believe  in  the  Darwinian  theory 
of  evolution,  and  do  you  think  it  explains  any¬ 
thing? 

A — According  to  that  theory,  man  is  not  only 
descended  from  the  ape,  but  he  has  within  him 
a  whole  menagerie,  and  sometimes  the  ape  is 
uppermost,  and  sometimes  the  ass.  I  am  in¬ 
clined  to  believe  in  it ;  it  explains  a  lot. 

Q— Who  was  the  greatest  man,  Caesar,  Al¬ 
exander,  Cromwell,  or  Isaac  Newton? 

A — If  true  greatness  consists  in  the  right 
use  of  a  powerful  understanding,  Sir  Isaac 
Newton  leads  the  list.  It  is  to  such  men  as 
Newton — men  who  enlighten  their  fellow  men 


182  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

— not  to  men  who  enslave  them  by  violence, 
that  we  owe  reverence. 

Q — What  was  the  ideal  of  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers,  and  why  do  you  attribute  supremacy 
to  them  in  the  making  of  America  ? 

A — A  theocracy  consisting  of  a  solemn  al¬ 
legiance  to  the  covenant  of  the  gospel  and  a  de¬ 
termination  to  walk  by  its  rule,  whatever  the 
cost.  The  Pilgrim  was  supreme  because  his 
ideals  were  the  loftiest  and  he  made  the  largest 
sacrifices  in  their  behalf.  It  was  reserved  for  a 
band  of  obscure  and  despised  sectaries  to  lay 
down  in  all  essentials  the  principles  of  repre¬ 
sentative  democracy.  They  set  sail  from  the 
old  world,  but  they  carried  a  new  world  in  their 
hearts. 

Q — What  is  the  matter  with  the  church? 
Where  are  the  great  preachers,  such  as  we 
used  to  have? 

A — Internally,  sectarian  strife;  externally, 
the  prevalent  indifference  and  the  superficial 
character  of  much  of  the  national  mind. 
Preaching  has  killed  the  Christian  church.  We 
go  to  church  to  hear  the  star  in  the  pulpit.  We 
have  become  sermon  tasters  instead  of  Chris¬ 
tian  workers.  You  hear  a  fat  old  grocer  boast 
that  he  has  sat  under  the  pulpit  of  Rev.  Blow- 
hard  for  twenty  years,  and  all  the  time  you 
know  that  he  has  been  skinning  the  public.  We 
are  a  sorry  lot  and  make  a  poor  fist  at  religion. 

Q — Has  Christianity  failed?  After  two 


S.  Parkes  Cadman  183 

thousand  years  of  its  influence  why  are  we  in 
such  a  mess? 

A — No ;  Christianity  has  not  failed ;  as  Ches¬ 
terton  said,  it  has  been  found  difficult  and  laid 
aside.  I  should  like  to  see  a  demonstration  of 
its  efficiency  in  every  sort  of  man,  using  the 
leading  churches  for  the  occasion.  Get  to¬ 
gether  the  regenerated  Pharisees,  the  converted 
nobodies,  the  saved  who  were  once  lost  and  far 
away  from  God.  Let  the  preacher  for  once 
retire.  What  eloquence  could  equal  the  story 
of  such  transformed  lives !  The  outcome  would 
be  that  many  of  us  would  perceive  that  the 
same  power  that  brought  St.  Paul  to  the  feet 
of  Jesus,  that  sent  Henry  Martyn  to  India  and 
Father  Damien  to  the  lepers,  that  touched  the 
tongues  of  St.  Bernard  and  of  Beecher,  is  an 
everlasting  power  and  has  signs  and  wonders 
attending  it. 

So  wholesome,  so  intelligently  loyal,  so  nobly 
prophetic  is  the  Americanism  of  Dr.  Cadman, 
that  one  has  difficulty  in  remembering  his  Brit¬ 
ish  origin.  None  the  less,  because  he  married 
a  wife  he  does  not  hate  his  old  mother,  and  no 
small  part  of  his  remarkable  ministry  is  the 
service  he  has  rendered  in  behalf  of  the  friend¬ 
ship  of  English-speaking  peoples.  Here,  too, 
he  has  been  an  Ambassador  of  God,  embodying, 
as  he  does,  the  common  spirit  and  ideal  of 


184  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

kindred  lands.  No  doubt  William  James  would 
classify  Dr.  Cadman  among  the  “tough- 
minded,”  rather  than  among  the  mystics;  but 
he  would  rejoice  in  his  brilliant  intellect,  his 
abounding  vitality,  his  buoyant  good  cheer,  and 
his  infinite  brotherliness,  which  knows  no 
bounds  of  creed,  or  sect,  or  party — all  the  rich 
human  qualities  which  make  him  so  radiant 
and  so  fascinating.  No  man  is  more  beloved 
by  his  brethren,  as  much  for  his  goodness  of 
heart  as  for  his  gifts  of  mind,  all  of  whom 
have  an  honourable  Christian  pride  in  a  minis¬ 
try  as  fruitful  in  personal  blessing  as  it  is 
nation  wide  in  its  influence* 


XI:  Reginald  J.  Campbell 

No  two  men  were  ever  more  unlike  in  physi¬ 
cal  aspect,  intellectual  quality  and  spiritual  ap¬ 
peal,  than  the  first  two  ministers  of  the  City 
Temple.  The  first  was  a  sturdy,  stockily  built 
giant,  the  second  slight,  frail,  almost  ethereal ; 
one  the  son  of  a  stone-mason,  the  other  a  child 
of  the  manse;  an  old  man  with  a  black  mane 
followed  by  a  young  man  with  a  white  mane. 
If  one  had  a  rugged,  massive,  dynamic  intellect, 
the  other  had  a  mystical  mind  of  iridescent  bril¬ 
liance.  One  personality  was  pervasive,  opulent, 
dififusive,  the  other  magnetic,  absorbent,  win¬ 
some.  The  eloquence  of  the  older  man  had 
always  a  suggestion  of  the  stage,  not  that  it 
was  insincere,  but  because  the  dramatic  instinct 
was  ineradicable;  the  oratory  of  the  younger 
man  was  unaffected  in  its  simplicity,  with  no 
effort  after  effect,  and  no  flowers  of  rhetoric., 
The  contrast  might  go  on  indefinitely,  they 

were  so  utterly  different;  yet  each  in  his  own 

185 


186  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

distinction  and  power  was  a  man  of  mark,  and 
each  had  a  word  of  God  for  his  age. 

Mark  Rutherford  thought  that  George  Mac¬ 
Donald  was  the  most  fascinating  preacher  that 
ever  entered  a  pulpit:  but  if  he  had  seen  the 
young  man  who  came  up  from  Brighton,  at  the 
dying  wish  of  Joseph  Parker,  to  the  City 
Temple  in  1902,  he  might  have  altered  his  ver¬ 
dict.  With  a  head  grey  in  youth,  eyes  eloquent 
with  a  nameless  hunger,  and  a  face  thin  and 
pallid  as  that  of  some  ascetic  of  the  desert,  his 
advent  in  the  pulpit  was  an  event — one  had 
almost  said,  an  apparition.  Seldom,  if  ever,  has 
there  been  a  figure  more  arresting,  a  presence 
more  captivating,  or  an  appeal  more  winning 
than  R.  J.  Campbell  made  in  those  early  days 
of  his  incandescence.  Preaching,  said  Dr. 
Parker,  will  endure  as  long  as  the  race,  but  it 
must  be  preaching;  and  the  Sermons  Ad¬ 
dressed  to  Individuals  were  preaching  of  the 
most  real  kind,  at  once  searching  and  revealing. 
The  vestry  of  the  City  Temple  is  a  confessional, 
as  I  well  know,  and  each  of  the  sermons  dealt 
with  some  personal  problem  confided  to  the 
preacher,  uniting  a  clairvoyant  insight  with  a 
sympathy  almost  substitutionary.  Direct,  con- 


Reginald  J.  Campbell  187 

crete,  lambent,  they  were  unique  in  their  evoca¬ 
tion  of  the  religious  atmosphere,  and  in  that 
“naturalization  of  the  Unseen”  which  it  is  the 
glory  of  the  pulpit  to  achieve.  If  in  their 
printed  form  the  sermons  lost  something,  it  was 
because  no  art  could  detain  the  incommuni¬ 
cable  grace  of  a  personality  as  challenging  as  it 
was  charming.  From  a  letter  dated  1904,  writ¬ 
ten  by  a  friend  long  vanished,  I  take  these 
words  giving  an  impression  of  the  “Little  Grey 
Angel,”  as  the  preacher  was  described : 

A  more  beautiful  countenance  than  his  I 
have  never  beheld  among  living  men.  There 
are  pictures  of  the  saints  that  possess  the  same 
haunting  and  ethereal  loveliness.  It  is  a  beauty 
that  affects  some  men  as  being  almost  uncanny ; 
the  features  are  so  delicate  that  they  would  be 
effeminate  save  for  the  glowing,  searching  eyes 
and  the  firm,  long  lines  of  the  chin.  The  hair 
is  prematurely  grey,  but  luxuriant.  Garbed  in 
his  long  black  cassock,  the  preacher  looked  like 
a  Dante  that  had  known  no  sorrow.  Asceticism 
was  there,  but  no  hardness ;  spirituality  without 
aloofness.  As  he  stood  in  silence  when  he  rose 
to  preach,  searching  out  the  people  with  his 
eyes,  he  looked  like  a  friendly  angel.  His  de¬ 
livery  was  not  good,  being  muffled  and  feeble, 
sometimes  dropping  almost  to  a  murmur.  He 
seemed  to  use  manuscript,  but  I  got  the  impres- 


l88  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

sion  that  only  notes  and  headings  were  written 
down.  Frequently  he  made  use  of  devotional 
poetry,  summing  up  an  argument  or  a  plea  with 
a  stanza.  He  spoke  intimately  to  the  people 
and  never  waxed  either  oratorical  or  spectacu¬ 
lar.  The  most  extreme  gesture  that  he  made 
was  a  long,  upward  and  outward  movement  of 
the  arm,  as  though  he  intended  to  drop  a 
thought  among  the  rear  pews.  It  was  a  cu¬ 
rious  and,  as  you  may  observe,  not  an  easy 
gesture  to  describe,  but  it  had  a  striking  effect 
and  brought  the  beholder  up  with  a  start.  My 
impression  all  through  was  of  a  profound  but 
quietly  expressed  solicitude  that  man  should 
not  only  be  happier  for  being  good,  but  be  bet¬ 
ter  for  being  happier.  The  secret  of  his  power 
is  elusive.  The  explanation  for  such  a  lack  of 
explanation  would  naturally  be — magnetism  or 
genius.  The  magnetism,  certainly,  is  unde¬ 
niable.  As  to  the  latter,  it  is  doubtful  whether 
his  warmest  friends  would  claim  for  him  the 
title  of  genius.  Ability,  grace,  charm,  skill — 
yes ;  but  genius — no. 

Unfortunately,  it  was  never  my  joy  to  hear 
Campbell  in  the  City  Temple  in  those  days,  and 
one  had  to  see  and  hear  him  in  that  setting  in 
order  to  know  him  at  his  best.  Outside  the 
Temple  he  seemed  bereft  of  half  his  power, 
which  explains  the  disappointment  of  those  who 
heard  him  elsewhere,  and  especially  in  America. 


Reginald  J.  Campbell  189 

Knowing  something  of  the  amazing  audience 
which  assembles  in  the  City  Temple — amazing 
alike  in  its  composition  and  in  its  spiritual  con¬ 
trasts — I  know  how  it  tugs  at  the  heart  of  the 
preacher.  The  curious  tourists  who  “do”  the 
Temple  count  for  as  little  as  the  jaded  sermon- 
tasters  seeking  a  new  thrill.  The  standing 
congregation  is  a  mixed  multitude  in  itself,  too 
bewilderingly  varied  to  be  described,  with 
which  is  joined  a  crowd  of  lonely,  baffled  folk, 
drawn  or  driven  by  an  inappeasable  need  of  the 
soul,  and  no  preacher  can  ever  forget  their 
eager,  expectant,  storm-vexed  faces.  Men 
fighting'  for  faith,  men  who  have  lost  the  fight, 
spiritual  derelicts  tossed  between  cynicism  and 
despair— weary,  unexcited,  tormented — de¬ 
feated  men  whose  past  is  ever  before  them,  and 
women  to  whom  hell  is  the  only  reality — these 
sit  side  by  each  at  every  service.  The  appeal  to 
the  penetrative  and  compassionate  understand¬ 
ing  of  the  preacher  is  like  “deep  calling  unto 
deep,”  and  if  he  has  the  shepherd  soul  it  is 
irresistible.  To  such  an  audience — its  mind  a 
chaos  of  unrelated  ideas,  its  soul  dumb  with  a 
wordless  yearning,  terrible  in  the  loneliness  of 
a  great  city— Campbell  came  like  an  old  mystic 


190  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

who  had  wandered  out  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
Without  being  aesthetically  fine  or  intellectually 
satisfying,  his  presence  was  electrifying,  his 
personality  haunting,  his  utterance  thrilling — 

Clothed  about  with  flame  and  with  tears,  and 
singing 

Songs  that  break  the  heart  of  the  earth  with 
pity. 

Such  was  the  minister  of  the  City  Temple 
when  the  New  Theology  sensation  began:  a 
matter  with  which  I  have  not  to  do,  except  to 
say  that,  since  it  was  neither  new  nor  a  theol¬ 
ogy,  it  did  not  enlist  my  interest.  Indeed,  we 
in  America  were  amazed  at  the  furor  it  made, 
finding  in  it  little,  if  anything,  that  had  not 
long  been  familiar  to  us  either  in  the  old  liberal¬ 
ism  or  the  new  orthodoxy;  nothing,  that  is, 
unless  it  was  a  misplaced  emphasis  or  a  sense 
of  proportion  all  awry.  It  seemed  to  us  only 
another  proof  of  the  saying  of  Disraeli  that 
the  English  are  the  most  enthusiastic  and  least 
excitable  people  on  earth,  and  that  the  two 
inspirations  of  their  enthusiasm  are  politics 
and  religion.  Nor  did  we  on  this  side  realise 
that  the  movement  had  been  taken  up  by  the 


Reginald  J.  Campbell  191 

Northcliffe  papers,  especially  by  the  Daily  Mail , 
which  exploited  an  ethereal  personality  in  a 
manner  unprecedented — taking  bits  of  his  ser¬ 
mons  out  of  their  context  and  flashing  them  in 
large  type,  much  to  the  regret  of  the  preacher 
and  his  friends.  The  book  entitled  The  New 
Theology ,  and  described  in  its  preface  as  “a 
concise  statement  of  the  outlines  of  the  teach¬ 
ing  given  from  the  City  Temple  pulpit,”  while 
containing  many  vagrant  insights  of  rare 
beauty,  was  so  ill-considered  and  hastily  writ¬ 
ten  as  almost  to  justify  the  cartoon  in  Punch , 
showing  the  author  pacing  up  and  down  his 
study,  dictating  a  new  theology  in  an  evening. 

There  is  no  wish  on  my  part  to  belittle  the 
author  of  The  New  Theology;  far  from  it. 
He  was  a  preacher  of  rare  and  exquisite  art, 
commanding  many  resources,  and  there  was 
always  a  suggestion  of  a  supernatural  back¬ 
ground  to  his  ministry.  His  knowledge  of  the 
human  heart — especially  in  its  bafflements,  its 
struggle  with  temptation,  its  pain  at  the  hard¬ 
ness  of  life,  its  wistful  loneliness — was  almost 
uncanny;  and  his  divination  of  what  people 
were  thinking  and  feeling,  of  their  inarticulate 
yearnings,  made  him  an  answerer  of  the  un- 


192  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

asked  questions  of  many  minds.  His  preaching 
during  the  New  Theology  days  was  in  many 
ways  extraordinary,  albeit  marred  at  times  by 
an  aggressive  self-consciousness.  Often  a  ser¬ 
mon  began  with  a  too  elaborate,  if  not  laboured, 
exegesis  of  the  text  in  the  light  of  the  higher 
criticism — “ I  believed  the  Germans  too  read¬ 
ily, he  afterwards  said — but  it  nearly  always 
found  focus  in  a  glow-point  of  real  insight. 
His  prayers,  too,  were  singularly  searching, 
healing,  exalting.  Indeed,  many  were  drawn 
to  him,  not  because  he  had  invented  a  new 
theology,  but  because,  with  real  insight  and 
at  the  psychological  moment,  he  uttered  truths 
deeply  felt,  or  dimly  seen,  in  the  terms  of  his 
time,  and  related  Christianity  to  everyday  life 
and  the  issues  of  his  age.  His  spiritual  fervour, 
his  moral  earnestness,  his  passion  for  social 
justice  found  response  in  many  who  knew  little, 
and  cared  less,  about  any  kind  of  theology,  new 
or  old. 

Nor  do  I  mean  to  imply  that  the  New  The¬ 
ology  movement,  at  one  time  so  much  discussed, 
did  no  good  except  to  make  a  stir  in  the  dry 
leaves.  It  did  good  both  directly  and  indirectly. 
It  awakened  interest  in  religion;  it  emphasised 


Reginald  J.  Campbell  193 

the  social  meaning  of  Christianity;  it  enabled 
many  ministers  to  speak  their  minds  more 
freely  and  frankly;  and  a  freer,  fresher  air  was 
felt  to  be  blowing  through  all  the  churches. 
Though  the  movement  itself  has  had  its  day 
and  ceased  to  be,  thousands  of  people  were 
made  aware  of  a  new  sense  of  reality  and  a  new 
impulse  to  service.  The  leader  of  the  New 
Theology  reached  the  zenith  of  his  influence 
and  power  in  1909,  and  the  following  year  was 
smitten  with  a  serious  illness  which  seemed  to 
affect  not  only  his  body  but  his  whole  person¬ 
ality.  Three  sermons  a  week,  besides  innumer¬ 
able  outside  demands,  had  overtaxed  his 
strength.  The  minister  of  the  City  Temple,  as 
I  learned  to  my  sorrow,  is  regarded  as  public 
property  in  London,  and  it  is  a  wonder  to  me 
that  so  frail  a  man  as  Campbell  stood  the  strain 
as  long  as  he  did.  A  second  visit  to  America 
in  19 1 1  did  not  improve  his  health,  but  it 
marked  the  turning  point  of  his  career.  A 
subtle  change  crept  into  his  pulpit  utterances, 
and  the  congregations  at  the  City  Temple, 
while  still  relatively  large,  began  to  decline. 
At  the  Thursday  noon  service  the  attendance 
became  smaller  than  it  has  been  for  thirty 


194  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

years.  Another  illness  in  July,  1914,  left  the 
preacher  unspeakably  frail,  and  in  the  autumn 
he  resigned  and  entered  the  Church  of  Eng¬ 
land. 

Dr.  Parker  had  left  a  large  and  influential 
following  at  the  City  Temple,  but  the  attrition 
of  years,  the  changes  in  London,  and,  more 
than  all,  the  agitations  of  the  succeeding  min¬ 
istry,  scattered  it.  Not  a  few  left  when  the 
New  Theology  discussion  began,  and  many 
more  when  the  minister  adventured  into  social¬ 
ism.  Others  took  their  places,  to  be  sure,  in¬ 
cluding  a  multitude  of  young  people  who  filled 
the  Temple  with  ardour  and  enthusiasm.  But 
when  their  leader  recanted  his  teaching  they,  in 
turn,  were  first  dazed,  and  then  disillusioned, 
like  sheep  led  into  a  wilderness  and  deserted 
by  the  shepherd — surely  not  the  least  part  of 
the  tragedy  of  a  notable  career.  As  a  result 
little  was  left  at  the  City  Temple:  as  one  of  its 
officers  said  to  me  when  I  arrived:  “It  is  not 
only  flat,  it  is  a  hole  in  the  ground/’  When  I 
took  up  my  labours  at  the  Temple  my  predeces¬ 
sor  was  a  priest  of  St.  Philip’s  Cathedral,  in 
Birmingham,  and  had  just  published  his  apo¬ 
logia,  entitled  A  Spiritual  Pilgrimage .  It 


Reginald  J.  Campbell  195 

was  more  than  an  apology ;  it  was  a  recantation. 
Perhaps  an  Intellectual  Pilgrimage  had  been  a 
better  title ;  but  the  tone  of  the  book  was  irenic, 
with  very  few  barbed  sentences,  yet  one  felt  all 
through  a  deep  undercurrent  of  disappoint¬ 
ment.  He  spoke  rather  sadly  of  “my  most 
latitudinarian  days,”  meaning  his  great  days  at 
the  City  Temple,  over  which  he  wished  to 
“draw  a  veil.”  Indeed,  he  was  not  aware  of 
owing  anything  in  his  religious  life  to  Noncon¬ 
formist  influences;  what  he  had  received  from 
that  source  was  rather  “a  truer  view  of  his¬ 
tory  and  of  the  sterner  realities  of  modern 
life.” 

He  was  explicit  in  his  remarks  about  his  “re- 
ordination,”  a  word  not  chosen  at  haphazard, 
when  he  said  that  he  believed  himself  to  be  “no 
more,  and  no  less,  truly  a  minister  of  Jesus 
Christ  after  I  had  been  ordained  in  the  Church 
of  England  than  I  was  before”;  and  he  re¬ 
garded  that  act  as  no  judgment  upon  his  min¬ 
istry  one  way  or  the  other.  “The  fact  is  that 
distinctive  nonconformist — or  shall  I  say  evan¬ 
gelical? — theology  failed  me,”  he  said.  Appar¬ 
ently  the  New  Theology  had  failed  him,  too. 
He  felt,  as  he  frankly  admitted,  that  “in  the 


196  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

corporate  unity  of  the  catholic  church  and  in 
that  alone  was  full  satisfaction  to  be  found  for 
my  religious  need.”  Yet  he  makes  the  curious 
remark  that  had  his  health  stood  the  strain,  he 
did  not  see  how  he  could  legitimately,  “in  all 
reason  and  conscience,”  have  left  the  City 
Temple.  Indeed,  he  more  than  once  said  to  me 
that  if  he  could  have  had  an  assistant,  as  I  had 
at  the  City  Temple,  he  would  not  have  left.  It 
was  all  very  strange,  and  the  apologia  did  not 
explain  it. 

Nor  is  it  my  business  to  inquire  into  it  fur¬ 
ther.1  Later,  when  Mr.  Campbell  came  to 
London  as  Vicar  of  Christ  Church,  West¬ 
minster,  I  found  him  the  same  lovable  and 
brotherly  man  whom  I  had  met  and  heard  in 
America,  albeit  somewhat  pensive  and  aloof — 
as  one  who  had  “journeyed  a  long  way  and 
passed  many  graves  along  the  road.”  At  the 
invitation  of  a  mutual  friend,  I  attended  his 

1  It  was  not  so  much  the  fact  of  his  entering  another  com¬ 
munion  that  hurt  the  people  of  the  City  Temple — though  to 
some  of  his  friends  it  was  like  a  personal  bereavement — but 
the  way  in  which  it  was  done.  He  could  have  had  any¬ 
thing  he  asked — never  was  a  man  more  beloved — but  the 
church  was  not  taken  into  confidence.  His  arrangements  for 
entering  the  Established  Church  were  made  before  his  friends 
knew  anything  about  it.  He  had  a  right  to  burn  all  bridges 
behind  him,  but  so  loyal  a  people  deserved  a  better  fate. 


Reginald  J.  Campbell  197 

Induction  as  Vicar,  and  I  shall  not  soon  forget 
my  feelings  when  I  saw  him  stand  at  the  altar, 
holding  a  Bible  aloft  in  his  hand,  and  accept 
the  Thirty-nine  Articles  of  faith — remember¬ 
ing  what  he  had  often  said  of  the  intellect 
capable  of  such  a  feat.  Many  great  and  saintly 
men  accept  that  ancient  formula,  but  for  Mr. 
Campbell  to  do  so  required  a  reversal  of  mind 
which  baffled  his  friends  and  puzzled  his  foes. 
In  all  this  he  was  utterly  sincere — being  a  man 
who  lives  in  phases — but  I  wondered  what  had 
happened  in  his  heart,  and  how  such  a  thing 
could  be.  Temperament,  no  doubt,  explains 
much.  The  very  qualities  which  made  him  so 
stimulating  a  preacher  unfitted  him  as  a  guide 
for  theological  wayfarers,  the  more  so  when, 
unfixed  from  his  orbit,  he  became  a  wandering 
star.  For  he  was  ever  a  lonely,  pilgrim  soul, 
“a  trail  of  fire  burning  at  white  heat/’  restless, 
impulsive,  erratic.2  Such  a  mind  has  no  place 
in  English  Nonconformity,  in  which  there  is 
so  much  that  is  not  only  definite,  but  hard,  un¬ 
yielding,  and,  if  one  may  say  so,  ungracious. 
By  temperament,  no  less  than  by  training,  R.  J. 
Campbell  belongs  in  the  Church  of  England, 

3  Prophets,  Priests ,  and  Kings,  by  A.  G.  Gardiner. 


198  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

and  no  one  will  begrudge  him  the  peace  he  has 
found  in  its  wide  fellowship,  its  sweet  and  tem¬ 
pered  ways,  and  its  veneration  for  those  forms 
and  symbols  which  enshrine  the  wisdom  and 
faith  of  the  past. 

Often,  during  his  ministry  at  the  City  Tem¬ 
ple,  Mr.  Campbell — Dr.  Campbell,  as  he  is  now, 
by  the  grace  of  Oxford  University — was  urged 
to  write  a  Life  of  Christ ;  no  doubt  because  he 
made  Christ  a  living  reality  to  so  many  seeking 
and  hitherto  baffled  souls.  At  last,  after  many 
delays  due  to  the  Great  War,  he  has  fulfilled 
that  request;  but  it  is  not  the  great  Life  of 
Jesus  for  which  we  have  been  waiting,  written 
in  full  light  of  the  ancient  faith  and  the  new 
knowledge — for  that  the  author  has  neither  the 
scholarship  nor  the  literary  gift.  In  many  re¬ 
spects  his  Life  of  Jesus  is  different  from  what 
it  would  have  been  had  he  written  it  while  min¬ 
ister  of  the  City  Temple.  His  attitude  and 
point  of  view  have  changed.  The  homiletic 
instinct  prevails,  and  he  promises  to  follow  this 
volume  with  a  homiletical  commentary  on  the 
Gospels.  Every  man  unconsciously  portrays 
that  in  Christ  most  akin  to  himself ;  and  in  this 
volume  Mr.  Campbell  is  at  his  best  when  inter- 


Reginald  J.  Campbell  199 

preting  “the  wonderful  winsomeness”  of  the 
Master,  as  Papini,  who  fell  in  love  with  Jesus 
while  reading  the  Gospels  to  the  peasants,  sees 
him  as  “terribly  and  fearfully  alone.”  The 
book  is  rich  in  insight  and  beauty,  making  us 
feel  the  majesty  of  the  Master,  and  still  more 
the  nameless  and  haunting  charm  which  clings 
to  every  word  and  gesture  of  those  swift  and 
gentle  years. 


XII:  William  A.  Quayle 

Those  who  have  read  Old  Delabole,  by 
Eden  Phillpotts,  will  not  soon  forget  the  little 
Cornish  village — so  near  to  the  “sounding 
shores  of  Boss  and  Bude” — where  men  win 
with  patient  toil,  and  not  without  peril,  the 
famous  dark  grey  slate  that  is  the  delight  of 
every  good  builder.  But  even  to  the  dwellers 
of  that  “City  of  Slate,”  the  religious  activities 
of  the  village,  divided  between  “Wesleyans” 
and  “Uniteds,”  take  rank  with  the  affairs  of 
the  great  quarry  in  interest  and  importance. 
It  is  worth  while  to  know  Granfer  Nute,  the 
village  philosopher,  who  comes  aptly  to  the 
rescue  of  every  perplexing  situation  with  his 
shrewd  humour  and  his  quaint  estimates  of  men 
and  things.  Foregathered  one  day  with  his 
special  crony,  they  discuss  the  aims  and  actions 
of  certain  young  people,  as  old  folk  are  wont  to 
do: 

“Pity  your  grandson  hedn’t  more  like  his 

200 


201 


William  A.  Quayle 

brother  Pooley,  and  not  so  fond  of  dolly¬ 
mopping  with  the  girls,”  said  the  friend  of  the 
philosopher. 

“Pooley  has  the  Methodist  mind,”  Granfer 
replied.  “Ned  hedn’t.  He’s  feeling  out  for  the 
joy  of  life,  while  Pooley  wants  the  joy  of 
truth.” 

Not  all  may  be  willing  to  agree  that  there  is 
a  Methodist  mind,  as  a  thing  distinct  and  set 
apart,  on  the  ground  that  others  have  an  equal 
right  to  Granfer’s  highly  honourable  phrase., 
However  that  may  be,  there  is  a  Methodist 
genius,  unique,  particular,  precious — joining 
mind  and  heart,  uniting  the  joy  of  truth  with 
the  joy  of  life — and  there  has  never  been  a 
more  perfect  incarnation  of  it  than  Bishop 
Quayle;  in  whom  humour,  pathos,  literature, 
life,  faith,  philosophy  and  poetry  are  made  in¬ 
candescent  by  a  spiritual  genius  who  is  also  an 
unveneered  human  being.  What  he  may  be  as 
an  executive  I  know  not — though  it  is  reported 
that  a  great  layman  once  thanked  God  “for  one 
Bishop  Quayle,  and  no  more” — but  as  a 
preacher  there  is  not  another  like  him  in  Meth¬ 
odism,  or  anywhere  else.  In  a  church  so  rich 
in  great  preachers — the  church  of  Simpson  and 


202  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

Fowler,  of  Price  Hughes  and  W.  L.  Watkin- 
son — no  one  may  be  supreme ;  but  Bishop 
Quayle  is  one  of  the  princes  of  that  realm,  a 
peer  in  a  shining  company  of  those  whose 
hearts  God  has  touched  with  light  and  power 
and  loveliness.  No  wonder  he  confirms  some 
of  us  in  the  conviction,  long  held  as  an  article 
of  faith,  that  when  God  made  the  Methodist 
Church  he  did  not  do  anything  else  that  whole 
day ;  and  behold  it  was  good ! 

Many  times  I  have  heard  Bishop  Quayle 
preach,  before  he  was  elevated  to  the  episco¬ 
pate  and  after,  but  one  day  stands  out  in  my 
memory  as  showing  the  many-sidedness  of  the 
man.  It  was  at  a  conference  over  which  he 
presided  in  Iowa,  and  I  can  still  see  him  as  he 
stood  transfigured  by  the  autumn  sunlight  fall¬ 
ing  through  a  lovely  window — tall,  stockily 
built,  stooped,  his  massive  head  crowned  with 
reddish  hair  tinged  with  grey,  his  great  blue 
eyes  the  homes  of  laughter  and  of  tears,  his 
face  as  mutable  as  the  sea.  As  I  entered  the 
church,  I  heard  first  ripples  and  then  roars  of 
laughter,  for  no  great  preacher  of  our  time 
makes  so  liberal  a  use  of  wit  and  humour  in  his 
work;  bright  wit  in  which  there  is  no  sting; 


William  A.  Quayle  203 

sweet  humour  without  any  acid.  The  bishop 
was  receiving  a  group  of  young  men  into  the 
ministry,  to  an  accompaniment  of  a  running 
commentary  on  the  requirements  and  duties  of 
a  minister  as  laid  down  in  the  Discipline.  Noth¬ 
ing  was  omitted,  not  even  “the  expectoratious 
subject  of  tobacco/1  and  neither  before  nor 
since  have  I  heard  so  much  common  sense 
taught  in  the  guise  of  nonsense.  Among  other 
things  he  advised  each  minister  to  have  a  patch 
of  ground — large  or  small — all  his  own,  where 
he  could  take  refuge  from  obstinate  bishops 
and  obstreperous  elders,  and  assert  his  rights. 
We  laughed  until  we  cried  as  he  described  the 
foibles  of  the  minister,  and  the  difficulties  and 
trivialities  of  his  work ;  then  we  cried  in  earnest 
as  he  spoke  of  the  meaning  of  the  ministry,  its 
dignity,  its  pathos,  and  its  sacred  service  amid 
the  lights  and  shadows  of  life. 

After  the  singing  of  a  hymn,  the  bishop  read 
the  account  of  the  raising  of  Dorcas  and 
preached  a  sermon,  which  might  have  had  for 
its  title  the  Wordsworth  phrase,  “The  Deep 
Power  of  Joy” — always  a  keynote  in  his  preach¬ 
ing,  and  one  too  seldom  heard  in  our  anxious 
modern  days.  It  was  a  charge  to  the  church 


204  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

in  behalf  of  the  young  men  whom  he  had  wel¬ 
comed  into  the  ministry ;  a  study  of  the  atmos¬ 
phere  which  the  gospel  of  Christ  should  create 
— a  happy,  healing,  redeeming  atmosphere  in 
which  evil  will  be  overcome  as  seeds  of  good 
grow  into  golden  harvest.  Since  Christianity 
is  a  gospel  of  joy — no  vague,  mystical  ecstasy, 
but  a  real,  human-hearted  joy — its  messengers 
should  be  bringers  of  joy,  changing  the  human 
climate  from  winter  to  summer.  The  sermon 
was  an  illustration  of  its  subject.  Serious  but 
in  nowise  solemn,  it  created  the  very  atmos¬ 
phere  it  described — “almost  a  picnic  spirit,”  as 
one  listener  called  it — reminding  me  of  the  say¬ 
ing  of  Hermas,  that  the  Holy  Spirit  is  a  hilari¬ 
ous  spirit.  For  an  hour  the  preacher  made  us 
glad  about  God — -glad  about  life  and  the  world 
— showing  us  that  there  is  healing  for  all  the 
hates  and  hurts  of  life,  if  we  use  the  gospel  with 
strategy  and  skill.  As  a  feat  of  homiletics  it 
was  a  work  of  art,  albeit,  like  a  vine-covered 
church,  its  solid  structure  was  hidden  by  every 
kind  of  beauty  both  of  imagery  and  of  phrase. 
It  was  not  rhetoric  but  poetry ;  and  the  manner 
of  its  delivery  had  all  the  freedom,  directness 
and  charm  of  a  stump  speech. 


William  A.  Quayle  205 

As  if  all  that  were  not  enough  for  one  day,  in 
the  evening  the  bishop  gave  a  lecture  on  The 
Tale  of  Two  Cities ,  the  like  of  which  I  have 
never  heard  from  anyone  else.  It  would  have 
delighted  Dickens,  both  for  its  vivid  portraiture 
and  its  dramatic  power,  being  a  series  of 
sketches  of  the  characters  in  the  story  seen 
against  the  stupendous  background  of  the 
Revolution.  In  speaking  of  Sidney  Carton  and 
his  fight  with  the  demon  of  drink,  he  let  fall  a 
page  from  his  own  life,  telling  how  when  only 
a  lad  of  ten  he  lay  drunk  on  the  floor  of  a 
saloon.  His  mother  was  dead,  his  father  was 
a  miner  at  his  work,  and  the  rough  men  thought 
it  a  great  joke  to  make  the  boy  drunk.  It  made 
the  heart  shudder,  and  in  his  dealing  with 
Carton  one  felt  that  he  was  aware  of  his  own 
escape  from  a  tragic  fate.  There  was  no  need 
to  point  the  moral,  save  in  one  swift  sentence 
which  flashed  like  a  silver  arrow  as  it  hit  the 
mark.  Surely  no  one  ever  forgot  that  day  of 
wonder,  so  fruitful  in  inspiration  for  the  heart 
and  in  “pollen  for  the  mind/’  to  use  one  of  its 
happy  phrases.  It  was  like  an  apocalypse  in 
which  the  preacher  stood  revealed,  equally  in 
his  homely  counsel  to  his  young  brethren  and  in 


206  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

his  high  command  of  great  assemblies ;  his  ten¬ 
der  humanity,  his  witchery  of  personality,  his 
knowledge  of  life  from  bottom  to  top,  his  magic 
of  speech,  his  love  of  the  out-of-doors — a  mind 
as  full  of  colour  as  a  painter’s  shop,  a  heart 
lyrically  confident  of  God  and  joyously  loyal  to 
the  Master. 

A  child  of  the  Isle  of  Man,  brought  up  in 
the  large  and  liberal  air  of  the  Middle  West  of 
America,  the  life  of  Bishop  Quayle,  as  one  day 
it  will  be  told,  shows  us  the  growth  of  a  great 
preacher  and  the  process  of  his  making.  How 
interesting  it  is  to  compare  the  earliest  volume 
of  his  sermons,  Eternity  in  the  Heart ,  a  fruit 
of  his  Kansas  City  ministry — happily  left  as 
they  came  from  the  heart  and  lips  of  the 
preacher  on  his  feet— with  his  latest  volume, 
entitled  The  Dynamite  of  God and  note  the 
deeper  insight  and  the  greater  wealth  of  beauty 
and  suggestiveness.  In  the  first  volume  there 
is  hardly  a  literary  allusion ;  in  the  second,  there 
are  almost  too  many.  If  only  we  had  a  volume 
between  them,  a  trophy  of  his  pastorate  at  St. 
James  Church,  Chicago,  we  might  the  better 
study  the  stages  of  the  rapid  unfolding  of  his 
vision  and  power;  how  he  took  all  life  and  all 


William  A.  Quayle  207 

literature  as  his  province,  levying  tribute  in  the 
name  of  his  Master.  Yet  it  would  be  hard  to 
name  anything  more  brilliant  than  his  fraternal 
address  to  the  British  Wesleyan  Conference  in 
1902,  though  what  I  best  remember  about  it  is 
his  unforgettable  tribute  to  his  father.  Every 
man  has  his  own  idiom,  which  is  the  accent  of 
his  heart,  the  native  gesture  of  his  mind;  but 
of  late  years  Bishop  Quayle  has  fallen  into  cer¬ 
tain  mannerisms  of  literary  style  which  mar 
his  work,  giving  at  times  almost  an  impression 
of  artificiality — a  thing  utterly  alien  to  his  na¬ 
ture.  In  these  despites,  not  since  Joseph  Par¬ 
ker  went  away  have  we  had  a  preacher  so 
epigrammatic,  so  quotable,  so  happy  in  his 
power  to  startle  and  sting  the  mind  with  the 
sudden  surprise  of  beauty  and  of  truth.  His 
fertility  of  thought  is  matched  by  an  exceeding 
aptness  of  imagery,  as  of  one  who  thinks  in 
pictures  and  talks  in  lyrics.  His  illustrations 
are  both  illuminative  and  instructive,  as  in  a 
passage  in  his  sermon  on  “Life's  Criminal  Ag¬ 
nosticism" — a  title  too  harsh  for  the  setting  of 
the  text— which  tells  what  many  have  felt : 

Do  you  read  John  Burroughs?  You  ought 
to.  He  likes  dirt.  He  says  dirt  is  good  enough 


208  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

to  eat  in  the  spring.  All  told,  as  nature  writers 
go,  I  think  John  Burroughs  the  best  of  ail  the 
sweet  chorus.  I  have  all  his  books  except  the 
one  on  Whitman.  I  have  asked  to  be  excused 
on  that  for  a  time.  But  do  you  read  Burroughs’ 
books?  What  is  the  lack  of  them?  I  will  tell 
you.  He  has  missed  the  Gardener.  Burroughs 
is  apparently  an  agnostic.  I  have  gone  through 
all  his  books,  seen  him  walk  on  his  dirt,  gone 
down  among  the  water  lilies  with  him,  stopped 
on  the  Hudson  banks  with  him,  heard  the  water 
brooks  bubbling  strangely  intelligible  speech 
with  him,  have  been  all  wheres  with  him,  but 
never  saw  a  hint  about  the  Gardener.  If  he 
only  once  had  looked  into  the  Gardener’s  face 
and  said,  “I  bless  thee,  Gardener,  that  the  gar¬ 
den  is  so  sweet,”  Burroughs  would  have  had  no 
fellow  in  the  earth  as  an  interpreter  of  the 
out-of-doors.  But  in  the  garden  he  has  missed 
the  Gardener.  We  must  not  miss  the  Gar¬ 
dener.  Is  he  at  home?  I  call  you  to  mark 
that  you  are  out  in  God’s  flower  garden,  all 
a-bloom  and  all  a-perfume,  and  all  a-rapture  of 
green.  Do  not  miss  the  Gardener.1 

In  all  the  preaching  of  Bishop  Quayle,  at 
least  in  his  later  period — over  it,  through  it — 
there  is  the  breath  and  beauty  of  the  out-of- 
doors  ;  singing  birds,  growing  flowers,  drif ting 
seas,  and  rustling  woods,  and  the  wandering 

1  The  Dynamite  of  God. 


William  A.  Quayle  209 

brotherhood  of  the  winds.  No  preacher  of  our 
out-door  age — not  one — approaches  him  in  his 
love  of  nature  and  his  vision  of  its  meaning  to 
the  spiritual  life  of  man.  He  is  a  radiant 
prophet  of  the  everywhereness  of  God,  a 
“priest  to  us  all  of  the  wonder  and  bloom  of 
the  world.”  As  a  naturalist,  and  still  more  as  a 
poet,  he  walks  the  earth  with  reverent,  happy 
feet,  revealing  to  men  the  beauty  at  their  doors, 
no  less  than  on  far  away  hills,  chanting  the 
eternal  loveliness  of  earth  and  sky.  He  reads 
God's  Calendar  so  lovingly  that  if  he  were 
to  fall  asleep  and  wake  up,  like  Rip  Van  Win¬ 
kle,  he  would  know  the  time  of  year  by  the 
flowers  in  bloom  and  the  notes  of  bird-song  in 
the  woodland.  He  knows  the  sea  and  its  moods, 
the  far-stretching  mystery  of  the  prairies ;  the 
mountains,  the  desert,  the  haunts  of  the  birds 
and  the  dells  where  the  violets  hide.  All  sea¬ 
sons  are  his,  summer  with  its  splendour,  and  the 
winter  days  when  the  north  wind  tumbles  out 
of  his  bed  and  goes  romping  over  the  hills, 
sending  the  clouds  scudding,  and  building  the 
snow  into  every  form  of  frolic  architecture. 
To  him  trees  are  a  means  of  grace,  the  fra¬ 
grance  of  a  rose  is  like  a  kiss  of  God,  and  the 


210  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

sunlight  falling  on  flowing  waters  is  like  the 
memory  of  one  much  loved  and  long  dead., 
Like  his  Master,  who  taught  out-of-doors,  all 
nature  is  an  infinite  parable  of  God  and  he 
pours  out  his  heart  in  poems  of  prayer  and 
praise,  reflection  blooming  into  rapture  and 
theology  into  song. 

Joined  with  his  love  of  nature  is  a  lyric  love 
of  humanity,  not  unlike  that  of  Browning,  so 
genuine  and  joyous  that  all  men  feel  the  glow 
of  it.  Nothing  human  is  alien  to  his  insight 
and  interest.  He  has  an  essay  on  “The 
Preacher  as  an  Appreciator,”  and  he  is  a  model 
of  his  own  precept.  He  knows  “The  Fine  Art 
of  Loving  Folks” — all  kinds  and  conditions  of 
folk — and  his  worship  of  little  children  just 
stops  short  of  idolatry.  No  wonder  his  book 
on  The  Pastor-Preacher — note  the  order  of 
the  words — is  one  of  the  richest  of  its  kind, 
made  so  by  his  abounding  humanity,  no  less 
than  by  his  knowledge  and  experience  of 
“preacher-craft.”  No  one  can  talk  to  preach¬ 
ers  as  he  can,  unless  it  be  Dr.  Jefferson,  and 
Quayle  is  more  of  a  poet,  more  of  a  mystic.  It 
would  be  hard  to  name  anyone  else  who  could 
have  written  the  chapter  on  “The  Preacher  a 


211 


William  A.  Ouayle 

Mystic,”  in  which  we  see  that  window  in  his 
heart  open  toward  the  City  of  God,  through 
which  falls  a  ‘light  that  never  was  on  sea  or 
land.”  Seldom  has  genius  been  more  com¬ 
municative.  The  very  informality  of  the  book 
is  half  its  charm,  dealing,  as  it  does,  both  with 
the  trivialities  and  the  sublimities  of  our  holy 
art.  Never  was  there  a  more  responsive  lis¬ 
tener  or  a  more  gentle-hearted  critic.  From 
Spurgeon  he  derived  little,  Brooks  he  knows 
only  by  report,  but  his  tribute  to  Beecher  is 
memorable : 

Since  the  apostolic  days  preaching,  as 
preaching,  has  never  soared  so  high  as  in 
Henry  Ward  Beecher.  There  were  in  him  an 
exhaustiveness  and  an  exuberance,  an  insight 
deep  as  the  soul,  a  power  to  turn  a  light  like 
sunlight  for  strength  on  the  sore  weaknesses  of 
humanity,  a  bewilderment  of  approach  to  the 
heart  to  tempt  it  from  itself  to  God  that  I  find 
nowhere  else;  and  it  has  been  my  privilege  to 
be  a  wide  reader  of  the  sermonic  literature  of 
the  world.  Compared  to  him,  Berry,  the  Eng¬ 
lish  preacher,  whom  Beecher  thought  most  apt 
to  be  his  successor  in  the  Plymouth  pulpit,  was 
an  instrument  of  a  couple  of  strings  matched 
with  Beecher’s  harp  of  gold.  Phillips  Brooks 
cannot  in  any  just  sense  be  put  alongside  him; 
and  Simpson  in  his  genius  was  essentially  ex- 


212  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

temporaneous  and  insular.  Beecher  was  per¬ 
petual,  like  the  eternal  springs.  In  Robertson 
of  Brighton  are  some  symptoms  of  Beecher, 
but  they  are  cameo  not  building  stone  resem¬ 
blances.  Beecher  was  the  past  master  of  our 
preaching  art.  Storrs  and  Beecher  were  con¬ 
temporaries  in  the  same  city.  Storrs  was  a 
field  of  cloth  of  gold.  Gorgeous  he  was,  and 
a  man  of  might.  But  you  cannot  get  from  the 
thought  of  effort  in  him  and  in  his  effects.  In 
Beecher  is  no  sense  of  effort,  any  more  than  in 
a  sea  bird  keeping  pace  with  a  rushing  ship.  In 
him  are  effortless  music  and  might  of  a  vast 
power  of  reserve.  This  estimate  of  Beecher 
may  be  right  or  wrong.  I  give  it  as  my  esti¬ 
mate  of  him.  He  has  no  successor,  as  Samson 
had  no  son. 

Some  of  us  love  Bishop  Quayle  best  in  his 
little  books  of  prayer,  and  we  find  The  Climb 
to  God  less  to  our  need  than  The  Throne  of 
Grace.  They  are  years  apart,  and  life  has 
taught  him  much  betimes.  The  last  named 
rosary  is  deeper  and  more  revealing,  a  kind  of 
diary  of  the  soul  written  for  God  to  read,  like 
the  Confessions  of  Augustine.  What  music 
and  touch  of  deep  truth,  what  unveiling  of  the 
moods  of  the  heart  and  its  hunger  for  a  more 
than  mortal  fellowship.  A  deep  and  grateful 
joy  in  God  is  joined  with  an  eager,  incessant 


William  A.  Quayle  213 

quest  for  more  of  God.  On  one  page  is  a  sinner 
abject  at  the  mercy  seat ;  on  another  he  is  a  poet 
dropping  roses  at  the  feet  of  the  Master.  Half 
the  time  he  is  out  of  doors,  rejoicing  in  “the 
beauty  of  the  Lord  our  God,”  which  is  ever 
upon  us  in  the  wonder  of  his  works.  When  we 
read  “A  Preacher’s  Prayer,”  we  know  him  to 
be  a  kinsman,  “proficient  only  in  incompe¬ 
tency,”  as  he  is  dazzled  by  the  richness  of  the 
good  news  he  is  sent  to  tell.  “Thy  mandate  is 
on  my  heart  and  on  my  lips.  By  thy  command 
I  am  evangelist.  Eternity  is  part  of  my  parish. 
God  help  me.”  In  prayer,  in  poem,  in  sermon 
the  note  of  his  genius  is  beauty ;  its  depth  is  the 
depth  that  goes  with  beauty.  It  is  as  a  great 
artist  that  he  thinks  of  God,  of  Christ  and  of 
the  life  of  man.  In  him  the  poet  is  supreme : 

A  man  of  sorrows  He,  and  guest  of  grief, 
Who  walked  in  quiet  on  life’s  humble  ways 
And  suffered  all  the  slurs  and  dull  dismays 
Which  crush  on  mighty  souls.  His  days  were 
brief — 

A  sudden  splendour  cleft  with  storm.  Belief 
On  Him  grew  dim,  though  great  hearts 
walked  through  haze 

Of  doubt  and  fogs  of  death  with  shouts  of 
praise, 


214  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

And  knew  Him  glorious  and  acclaimed  Him 
Chief. 

And  now  He  stands  strange,  uncompanied, 
vast, 

Tall  as  all  solemn,  purpling  mountains  are — 

Stands,  while  majestic,  crumbling  centuries 
waste. 

The  moaning  travail  of  His  soul  is  past. 

He  hath  throned  Love  and  wrought  redemption 
far; 

And  who  believeth  on  Him  shall  not  haste. 


XIII:  George  W.  Truett 

Three  scenes  are  linked  in  my  mind  as  I 
think  of  the  career  of  Dr,  Truett,  whose  min¬ 
istry  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  in  the  his¬ 
tory  of  the  modern  church.  Taken  together 
they  show  how  God  made  a  mighty  preacher, 
endowed  and  trained  him  for  his  task,  and  set 
him  in  a  place  of  influence  and  power.  He  is  a 
truly  great  preacher,  as  much  for  the  depth, 
simplicity  and  intensity  of  his  faith  as  for  the 
size,  poise,  and  incommunicable  charm  of  his 
personality.  No  man  among  us  has  more  of 
what  Joseph  Parker  called  “the  tone  of  great 
preaching/’  which  might  be  the  solicitude  of  a 
mother,  the  passion  of  a  father,  and  the  wooing 
note  of  a  lover  all  in  one.  “Men  are  guided 
by  type,  not  by  argument,”  said  Bagehot;  “it 
is  the  life  of  teachers  that  is  catching,  not  their 
tenets”;  and  that  is  supremely  true  of  Dr. 
Truett,  whose  character  fulfills  the  words  of 
Amiel  who  said,  “to  be  religious  is  to  personify 

and  embody  the  Eternal.” 

215 


216  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

The  first  scene  is  from  a  biographical  sketch 
of  Dr.  Truett,  all  too  brief,  which  shows  us  the 
boy  from  the  Blue  Ridge  Mountains  at  a  meet¬ 
ing  of  the  Baptists  of  Georgia,  in  the  old  court¬ 
house  at  Marietta,  in  1889.  He  was  there  to 
plead  the  cause  of  the  youth  of  the  mountains, 
as  precious  as  gold  for  the  miner’s  pick  and  fit 
to  adorn  the  crown  of  a  king.  Tall,  pale,  shy, 
vastly  embarrassed  in  the  focus  of  so  many  eyes, 
the  youth  was  forced  into  the  aisle  and  led  to 
the  “prisoner’s  dock.”  There  he  told  his  story, 
forgetting  himself — as  he  always  does — and 
remembering  only  youth  denied  an  opportunity 
of  access  to  its  rightful  inheritance  of  knowl¬ 
edge.  It  was  a  simple  story,  but  epic  in  its 
pathos  of  quiet  recital  of  the  passions,  hopes, 
and  longings  of  an  unsung  heroism.  It  grew 
more  poignant  with  each  word,  until  every 
heart  was  broken  and  yet  athrill,  moved  alike 
by  the  merit  of  the  plea  and  by  the  tones  of  a 
voice  which  carries  the  burden  of  tears  which 
seems  ever  laid  upon  it.  It  was  no  pitiful  plea 
of  poverty — who  ever  heard  that  from  a  south¬ 
ern  mountaineer? — but  the  cry  of  a  youth  in 
behalf  of  youth,  the  strong  persuasion  of  a  just 
matter,  the  logic  of  one  who  was  resolved  to  let 


George  W.  Truett  217 

his  own  lack  of  opportunity  plead  for  others. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  young  man  of  twenty- 
two  went  back  to  his  mountain  home  taking 
new  hope  and  joy  with  him. 

Thence,  after  a  time,  the  path  of  the  young 
man  led  westward  to  Texas,  where  his  parents 
had  moved  ahead  of  him.  Within  a  few  years 
he  had  saved  a  college  from  financial  despair, 
had  endowed  it,  had  been  graduated  from  it, 
and  was  elected  to  its  presidency.  Happily,  and 
wisely,  he  did  not  accept  the  honour,  keeping 
to  the  path  marked  out  for  his  soul  by  One  who 
made  him  to  be  a  preacher.  The  triumphs  of 
Dr.  Truett- — “plain,  mountain-hearted,  love- 
torn  George  Truett/'  in  the  words  of  one  of 
his  friends — read  like  a  legend,  as  year  by  year 
he  moved  forward,  divinely  led  while  humbly 
following,  to  a  place  of  command  among  his 
brethren.  The  man  who  wooed  cowboys  to 
their  knees  won  cities  also,  until,  in  1897,  he 
came  to  the  pulpit  of  the  First  Baptist  Church 
of  Dallas,  a  noble  church  destined  to  grow 
under  his  leadership  to  be  one  of  the  mighty 
forces  of  the  nation,  both  in  numbers  and  in 
spiritual  fruitfulness.  There,  as  pastor,  teacher 
and  evangelist,  his  genius  has  shone  for  more 


218  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

than  twenty  years,  where  his  name  is  a  house¬ 
hold  word,  and  his  fame  is  like  a  fragrance 
throughout  the  nation. 

The  second  scene  was  two  years  later,  in 
Louisville,  at  a  meeting  of  the  Baptist  conven¬ 
tion  of  the  south  in  1899,  when  Dr.  Truett  was 
the  preacher.  It  was  a  great  occasion,  and 
there  was  a  great  orator  to  match  it.  The  pic¬ 
ture  is  vivid  in  my  memory — the  finely  wrought! 
sermon,  the  burning  earnestness  of  the  preacher 
— but  no  words  of  mine  can  describe  a  voice 
which  has  in  it  an  echo  of  that  infinite  pain 
that  throbs  forever  in  the  human  heart;  the 
voice  of  one  who  knows  that  humanity  is  deeply 
wounded,  and  that  only  Christ  can  heal  it.  The 
sermon  was  entitled  “The  Subject  and  Object 
of  the  Gospel,”  and  was  valuable  not  only  for 
its  exposition  of  the  theme  but  as  a  revelation 
of  the  ideals  of  the  preacher.  He  magnified  his 
office,  and  there  were  passages  of  stinging  re¬ 
buke  of  clap-trap  methods  which  degrade  the 
pulpit.  “All  sensationalism  in  the  pulpit  is 
worse  than  sawdust,”  he  said;  it  smacks  of  the 
street  and  is  a  burning  shame  upon  the  Chris¬ 
tian  ministry.  The  following  passage  from  the 


George  W.  Truett  219 

sermon  gives  one  clue  to  the  secret  of  a 
preacher  who  knows  whereof  he  speaks,  and  in 
whom  the  Christ-motif  is  supreme: 

Nothing  can  take  the  place  of  the  Christian 
ministry.  The  progress  of  civilisation,  the 
making  of  many  books,  the  increase  of  schools 
and  learning,  the  marvelous  triumphs  of  the 
press — mighty  as  are  all  of  these  agencies — 
they  can  never  supersede  the  divinely  sent 
preacher.  ...  In  the  great  crises  of  the  past, 
matchless  has  been  the  influence  wielded  by 
God's  prophets  and  preachers.  When  all  other 
voices  have  failed,  they  have  rallied  the  waver¬ 
ing  people  to  the  standards  of  truth  and  right¬ 
eousness.  It  was  the  golden-mouthed  Chry¬ 
sostom  who  became  the  oracle  of  the  hour  in 
the  days  when  Antioch  was  smitten  with  terror. 
It  was  the  flaming  Augustine  who  rallied  his 
fellow  countrymen  from  despair  and  breathed 
into  their  lives  new  hope  and  purpose,  when  im¬ 
perial  Rome  lay  bleeding  and  trampled  beneath 
the  heel  of  an  invading  oppressor.  It  was  the 
plain,  yet  invincible  Luther,  who,  when  reeking 
corruption  reigned  in  the  papal  court  and 
spread  its  blight  over  all  Europe,  spoke  forth 
words  that  echoed  as  the  thunder  and  were 
piercing  as  the  lightning,  stirring  a  revolution 
that  thrilled  all  Christendom  and  marking  a 
new  epoch  in  the  civilisation  of  the  world.  As 
in  the  past  so  shall  it  be  in  the  future,  that  God's 
foremost  instrument  is  his  preacher,  in  both 


220  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

the  civilisation  and  the  evangelisation  of  the 
world. 

There  was  an  element  in  Paul’s  preaching 
that  must  needs  be  in  all  effective  preaching., 
It  was  his  tone  of  authority.  He  believed  his 
message  with  all  his  heart,  and  as  God’s  am¬ 
bassador  he  delivered  it  without  quailing,  for 
one  moment,  under  any  fire.  There  is  untold 
power  in  him  who  knows  his  mission  is  a  thing 
of  God’s  own  willing,  and  that  he  cannot  fail, 
though  doubts  may  shroud  in  cloud  the  tran¬ 
sient  hour.  It  is  conviction  that  convinces. 
The  last  place  on  earth  for  stammering  and 
indefiniteness  is  the  pulpit.  Christ’s  ambas¬ 
sador  is  to  proclaim  his  Master’s  message 
rather  than  to  defend  it.  He  is  a  witness 
rather  than  an  advocate.  Christianity  is  noth¬ 
ing  if  it  is  not  sublimely  positive.  It  is  not  a 
conundrum  to  be  guessed  at,  or  a  theory  to  be 
speculated  upon,  but  it  is  a  divine  revelation 
which  is  to  be  implicitly  accepted  and  followed 
with  the  deepest  heart-throb  of  our  lives.  To 
be  continually  on  the  defensive  is  contrary  to 
the  very  genius  and  purpose  of  the  gospel.  The 
gospel  faithfully  preached  is  its  own  best  de¬ 
fence. 

The  third  scene  was  in  Washington,  in  May, 
1920,  where  the  hosts  of  southern  Baptists  had 
assembled  for  their  great  convention — perhaps 
the  greatest  religious  assembly  in  the  world., 


George  W.  Truett  221 

As  the  convention  was  held  in  the  national 
capital  it  was  decided  that  there  should  be  an 
address  setting  forth  the  Baptist  position  with 
regard  to  the  relation  of  church  and  state ;  and 
Dr.  Truett  was  selected  to  deliver  the  address. 
He  stood  on  the  front  steps  of  the  capitol  build¬ 
ing,  looking  toward  the  White  House,  and  the 
audience,  numbering  many  thousands,  filled  the 
open  space.  Not  for  twenty  years  had  I  seen 
Dr.  Truett,  and  time  had  powdered  his  hair; 
but  the  wonderful  voice,  with  its  haunting  keys 
and  cadences,  was  the  same.  The  address  was 
entitled  “Baptists  and  Religious  Liberty/’  and 
it  was  as  much  a  sermon  as  an  oration,  review¬ 
ing  the  long  struggle  for  the  freedom  of  faith, 
and  the  part  which  Baptist  heroes  had  in  fight¬ 
ing  the  battle.  If  it  celebrated  liberty,  it  was 
also  a  plea  for  what  Burke  called  “a  manly, 
moral,  regulated  liberty” ;  and  it  laid  emphasis 
upon  the  obligations  which  all  true  liberty  im¬ 
poses,  lest  it  be  used  “for  an  occasion  of  the 
flesh.”  But  liberty  is  not  all.  Even  if  educa¬ 
tion  be  added  to  liberty  it  is  not  enough,  for 
“a  democracy  needs  more  than  intelligence — it 
needs  Christ”;  and  the  address  closed  with  a 
demand  for  evangelisation  nation-wide,  world- 


222  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

wide,  and  ceaseless.  For  more  than  an  hour 
the  orator  held  the  vast  audience  enthralled, 
and  he  sent  us  away  with  a  solemn  and  over¬ 
whelming  sense  of  the  crisis  of  the  modern 
world  and  its  challenge  to  the  Christian  faith. 

Someone  said  of  Spurgeon  that  his  theology, 
by  itself,  was  abhorrent,  but  that  it  was  never 
by  itself.  It  was  mixed  with  the  stuff  of  the 
man,  dipped  and  dyed  in  all  the  hues  of  his  life, 
touched  with  spiritual  genius  and  transfigured 
by  a  glorified  common  sense.  In  the  same  way, 
to  many  of  us  the  theology  of  Dr.  Truett  would 
seem  archaic,  if  not  untenable,  if  we  stopped  to 
remember  it.  What  we  remember  is  not  his 
theory  but  his  experience,  and  we  share  and 
rejoice  in  the  grand  orthodoxy  of  the  heart 
which  makes  his  preaching  so  vital  and  com¬ 
pelling.  Like  the  rest  of  us,  when  he  argues 
he  is  weak;  when  he  tells  of  the  love  of  God 
and  the  saviourhood  of  Christ,  he  is  irresistible.: 
According  to  Aristotle — whose  book  on  Rhet¬ 
oric  every  preacher  should  study,  if  only  to 
learn  that  rhetoric  is  not  mere  cookery,  as  Plato 
said  in  contempt — the  office  of  the  orator  is 
persuasion,  for  which  three  qualities  are  neces¬ 
sary  :  prudence,  moral  excellence,  and  the  good 


George  W.  Truett  223 

of  the  hearers  at  heart.  No  one  fulfills  these 
conditions  more  perfectly  than  Dr.  Truett, 
whose  character  lights  up  like  an  altar  lamp 
the  teaching  of  his  words.  More  than  an 
evangelist,  he  is  an  evangel.  As  a  rough  man 
put  it,  unconsciously  paying  a  high  tribute,  “He 
is  a  man. who  means  it  without  trying  to.”  His 
sincerity  is  not  simply  transparent,  it  is  lumi¬ 
nous.  Men  know  that  he  loves  them — they  feel 
it — and  that  his  one  wish  is  to  win  them  to 
Christ,  and  that  to  that  end  he  spends  his  power 
without  thought  of  himself.  One  of  his  friends 
has  tried  to  describe  his  secret : 

What  is  it  that  constitutes  the  acknowledged 
power  of  his  preaching?  In  one  answer  all 
opinions  meet.  It  is  something  in  the  man  him¬ 
self — the  man  behind  the  sermon,  the  incarna¬ 
tion  of  truthfulness  in  the  messenger.  Many 
sermons  will  yield  to  analysis  the  secret  of  their 
charm.  Though  many  of  the  sermons  of  Truett 
have  been  reported  in  full,  he  belongs  to  that 
class  of  preachers  who  convince  us  that  preach¬ 
ing  is  in  the  highest  sense  an  incarnation,  some¬ 
thing  more  than  a  report  of  the  truth,  some¬ 
thing  more  than  the  proclamation  of  the  gospel. 
Whitfield  could  so  speak  the  most  commonplace 
words  as  to  send  chills  through  his  audience., 
Truett  has  much  of  this  power  to  communicate 


224  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

to  men  his  soul  on  the  most  ordinary  vehicles 
of  thought  and  language.  His  words  take  on 
his  spiritual  quality  as  the  dull  black  wire  takes 
on  the  electric  current. 

Electricity,  however,  is  scarcely  a  fortunate 
figure.  He  is  least  of  all  of  the  spectacular 
type.  There  is  nothing  angular  or  irregular 
in  him.  He  has  none  of  the  personality  run  to 
seed — individualism  on  a  pious  spree.  The 
strongest  personalities  are  not  eccentric.  Ec¬ 
centricity  is  unnecessary  to  such  men.  They 
have  specific  gravity  beyond  the  need  of  pe¬ 
culiar  advertisement.  Too  much  of  what  men 
call  personality  in  the  pulpit,  in  the  view  that 
preaching  is  an  incarnation,  must  hinder  rather 
than  help  the  gospel  purpose.  Is  it  possible 
that  evangelism,  which,  reduced  to  the  terms  of 
psychology,  is  egotism,  can  be  the  appointed 
power  of  God  unto  salvation?  The  power  of 
George  Truett,  as  a  preacher,  can  have  no  such 
explanation. 

The  phrase  most  often  employed  to  explain 
Truett  is  “heart-power.”  Translated  into 
visible,  audible  fact,  it  is  this:  A  man  of  sub¬ 
stantial  flesh,  enough  to  be  a  man  of  like  pas¬ 
sions  with  other  men;  an  open  Saxon  face — a 
serious,  some  say  a  sad  face;  a  voice  set  in  a 
key  of  pathos;  an  impression  of  unfeigned 
sympathy,  as  of  a  man  who  has  suffered,  and 
whose  pain,  whatever  it  be,  has  become  lost  in 
a  larger  pain,  through  exchange  of  all  personal 
life  sorrows  for  the  great  human  sorrow  every- 


George  W.  Truett  225 

where.  In  declining  the  presidency  of  Baylor 
University  he  said  simply  in  explanation:  “I 
have  sought  and  found  the  shepherd’s  heart.” 
Perhaps  there  lies  the  hiding  of  his  power. 
Many  have  quoted  the  great  avowal  which 
Frederic  Myers  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Paul 
the  Apostle,  but  none  whom  I  know  can  appro¬ 
priate  it  more  truly  than  Truett,  when  he 
stands  before  a  congregation  of  his  fellow  men 
to  preach  the  gospel  that  saves : 

“Oft  when  the  word  is  on  me  to  deliver, 

Lifts  the  illusion  and  truth  lies  bare, 

Desert  or  throng,  the  city  or  the  river 
Melts  in  a  lucid  paradise  of  air. 

“Only  like  souls  I  see  the  folk  thereunder 
Bound  who  should  conquer,  slaves  who 
should  be  kings ; 

Hearing  their  one  hope  with  an  empty  wonder, 
Sadly  content  in  a  show  of  things. 

“Then  with  a  rush  the  intolerable  craving 
Shivers  throughout  me  like  a  trumpet  call. 
Oh,  to  save  these,  to  perish  for  their  saving, 
Die  for  their  life,  be  offered  for  them  all.” 

When  all  due  allowance  is  made  for  the 
beautiful  exaggeration  of  friendship  in  this 
tribute,  these  words  do  help  us  to  know  the 
power  of  a  preacher  whose  passion  for  human 


226  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

souls  is  a  consuming  fire,  and  whose  ministry 
is  attuned  to  the  mighty  music  of  redemption. 
The  latest  volume  of  sermon  by  Dr.  Truett  is 
by  far  the  best,  not  only  as  a  revelation  of 
deeper  experience  and  riper  powers,  but  be¬ 
cause  it  preserves  the  whole  of  each  service  and 
thus  reproduces,  as  far  as  can  be  done  in  print, 
the  atmosphere  of  his  personality.  The  com¬ 
ments  on  the  lessons,  the  prayers,  the  exhorta¬ 
tions,  the  glowing  appeals,  all  are  reported  in 
full,  erasing  only  such  errors  as  are  inevitably 
due  to  rapid  speaking  and  reporting.  It  is  en¬ 
titled  A  Quest  for  Souls — a  title  selected  by 
another,  but  exactly  descriptive  of  the  life- 
passion  of  the  preacher — and  as  an  example 
of  evangelistic  preaching  at  its  highest  it  has 
no  volume  to  surpass  it.  As  in  his  former 
volume,  We  Would  See  Jesus ,  his  homiletic 
method  is  utterly  simple  and  straightforward, 
with  no  clever  devices,  no  suggestion  of  sensa¬ 
tion,  nothing  to  deflect  attention  from  the  mes¬ 
sage.  It  is  as  free  from  the  artificial  and  the 
meretricious  as  the  preacher  himself  is  free 
from  the  blandishments  of  flattery,  wealth,  or 
fame..  It  is  rich  in  illustration,  drawn  from 
life,  from  history,  from  biography,  from  his 


George  W.  Truett  227 

own  wide  observation,  and  especially  from  his 
varied  experience  as  a  confidant  of  storm-vexed 
human  souls;  but  the  illustration  never  once 
gets  in  the  way  of  the  truth.  Of  the  prayers 
one  hesitates  to  speak — they  are  so  tender,  so 
direct,  so  aglow  with  insight  and  sympathy,  so 
intimate  without  being  familiar,  so  haunting  in 
pathos  yet  so  victorious  in  faith ;  as  of  one  who 
knows  how  to  climb  right  up  onto  the  knees  of 
God  and  talk  with  the  simplicity  of  a  little  child. 
The  total  impression  of  the  volume  does  not 
leave  one  thinking  of  the  preacher  at  all — he  is 
quite  forgotten — but  of  the  Master  whose  he 
is  and  whom  he  reveals ;  and  it  is  hard  to  know 
how  any  human  being  resisted  such  a  series  of 
appeals. 

Truly  he  is  a  winsome  preacher  of  the  win¬ 
someness  of  Christ;  one  could  not  imagine  the 
gospel  message  being  stained  on  his  lip  by 
acerbity  or  odium.  Always  positive,  always 
persuasive,  Dr.  Truett  has  none  of  the  grim, 
harsh  dogmatism  of  Torrey,  none  of  the  in¬ 
credible  vituperation  which  has  disfigured  so 
much  popular  revivalism.  He  is  an  evangelist 
of  the  Loving-Heart,  not  of  threats  and  thun¬ 
ders,  and  even  in  his  most  earnest  moods  his 


228  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

gentleness  is  palpable,  his  good  will  unfailing., 
His  thought  and  language  are  of  the  simplest. 
He  knows  how  to  be  picturesque  and  full  of 
colour,  and  he  need  only  be  himself  to  be  richly 
human,  but  he  never  speaks  except  for  a  ver¬ 
dict.  Instead  of  coming  religiously  to  every 
point  he  comes  at  once  to  the  point  of  religion, 
as  when  he  began  a  sermon  with  the  question : 
“Does  not  that  boy  over  there  wish  to  be  a 
Christian,  and  that  older  one,  turning  into  man¬ 
hood,  and  that  young  man  himself  there,  and 
that  young  woman — do  you  not  wish  to  be 
Christians?”  It  is  his  explicit  and  purposeful 
“preaching  for  conversions”  that  makes  it 
worth  while,  and  very  much  worth  while, 
studying  him.  An  adherent  of  the  older  con¬ 
ception  of  Christianity,  he  is  by  that  much 
ahead  of  the  times,  and  the  glib  young  liberals, 
who  imagine  they  are  progressive,  are  far  be¬ 
hind.  For,  unless  we  are  winners  of  human 
souls,  we  are  not  messengers  of  him  who  came 
to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  is  lost. 

A  famous  master  of  Trinity  College  said  of 
Maurice,  after  hearing  him  preach  a  university 
sermon:  “There  is  about  that  man  a  kind  of 
divine  feeling  or  possession/’  More  and  more 


George  W.  Truett  229 

this  divine  feeling,  this  supernatural  grace, 
seems  to  me  to  be  the  great  distinction  and 
charm  of  Dr.  Truett  as  a  preacher.  Other  men 
are  greater  scholars  and  profounder  thinkers, 
and  there  may  be  others  who  have  something 
of  his  artless  simplicity  of  moving  eloquence — 
Gipsy  Smith  has  much  of  it — but  in  his  char¬ 
acter  as  a  Christ-anointed  evangelist  I  doubt  if 
Dr.  Truett  is  surpassed  by  any  man  in  our 
generation.  Edmund  Burke  said  of  Charles 
Fox:  “That  man  was  made  to  be  loved” ;  but 
his  remark  is  of  far  nobler  application  to 
George  Truett.  He  was  made  to  be  loved.  In¬ 
deed,  it  may  be  truly  said  that  he  does  his  best 
work  through  the  exalted  and  wonderful  love 
which  he  unconsciously  and  inevitably  draws 
toward  himself.  People  do  not  try,  do  not  care 
to  analyse  or  define  his  power ;  they  simply  love 
him  as  one  altogether  worthy  of  their  homage 
and  affection.  Here  is  a  burden  of  confidence 
and  devotion  to  make  a  man  tremble;  and  it 
must  be  added  that  no  man  ever  used  an  op¬ 
portunity  with  higher  seriousness  or  nobler 
power.  Back  into  the  hearts  of  the  people  he 
pours  through  their  love  a  tide  of  holy  man¬ 
hood,  seeking  to  lift  them  by  their  love  into  the 


230  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

redeeming  fellowship  of  the  great  Lover.  One 
thanks  God  for  every  remembrance  of  such  a 
man,  whose  ministry  is  a  benediction  to  the 
world  and  a  theme  of  thanksgiving  in  the  whole 
church  of  God. 


XIV:  Edward  L.  Powell 


When  a  sermon  is  remembered  for  twenty- 
five  years,  and  the  very  tones  of  the  preacher 
still  echo  in  the  heart,  it  argues  an  unusual 
man  in  the  pulpit;  and  thereby  hangs  a  bit  of 
reminiscence.  In  1896,  while  a  theologue  in 
the  Baptist  Seminary  at  Louisville,  I  went  with 
a  number  of  my  fellow  students  to  the  old 
Fourth  and  Walnut  Street  Church  to  hear  the 
pastor,  whom  we  greatly  admired.  It  so  hap¬ 
pened  that  Dr,  Eaton  was  not  in  the  pulpit  that 
day  and,  somewhat  disappointed,  we  held  con¬ 
clave  as  to  what  we  should  do.  Just  opposite 
stood  a  plain,  square,  flat-roofed  church  with¬ 
out  a  spire,  its  wide  porch  and  massive  columns 
looking  more  like  a  Greek  temple  than  a  Chris¬ 
tian  shrine.  Being  in  a  mood  for  adventure, 
we  strolled  across  the  street,  climbed  the  great 
stone  steps,  and  entered  the  First  Christian 
Church,  to  see  what  might  transpire. 

Of  course  we  were  severe  critics,  as  young 

men  are  apt  to  be — especially  theologues,  who 

231 


232  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

fancy  they  are  wise — and  our  attitude  of  mind 
was  biased,  no  doubt,  by  sectarian  prejudice. 
Anyway,  as  there  was  no  time  to  go  to  another 
church  of  proper  faith  and  order,  we  took  the 
risk,  little  knowing  what  revelations  awaited 
us.  What  that  day  may  have  meant  to  others 
of  the  group  I  do  not  know,  but  it  was  one  of 
the  great  days  of  my  life,  because  it  meant  the 
discovery  of  one  of  the  noblest  preachers  of  our 
generation ;  a  man  as  brotherly  in  private  as  he 
was  brilliant  in  the  pulpit,  whose  influence  has 
been  not  only  stimulating  but  emancipating,  at 
once  an  inspiration  and  a  benediction.  The  old 
Greek  temple  has  vanished,  along  with  the 
Fourth  and  Walnut  Street  Church,  both  having 
been  removed  from  the  centre  of  the  city, 
where  they  had  stood  for  so  many  years,  bear¬ 
ing  witness,  each  with  its  own  eloquence,  to  the 
reality  of  the  Unseen  in  the  midst  of  time. 

The  First  Church  was  crowded  to  the  doors, 
but  a  kindly  usher  found  chairs  and  tucked  us 
away  in  a  far  corner,  just  as  the  preacher  en¬ 
tered  the  pulpit.  Not  one  of  us  had  ever  seen 
the  preacher  before,  having  for  the  first  time 
read  his  name  as  we  entered  the  church — a  fact 
which  gives  the  measure  of  our  abysmal  igno- 


Edward  L.  Powell  233 

ranee.  Across  the  years  I  can  still  see  Dr. 
Powell  as  he  stood  that  day,  in  the  prime  and 
glory  of  his  power — his  slight  figure,  his  huge 
head,  his  thin,  light  hair,  his  keen,  searching 
eyes — not  a  graceful  man,  his  gestures  angular 
at  times,  his  face  aglow  with  unearthly  light, 
uttering  his  high  message  in  words  vivid,  full 
of  grace,  and  surcharged  with  living  fire.  It 
was  a  vision  unforgettable.  He  conducted  the 
service  less  as  a  leader  of  worship  than  as  a 
leading  worshipper — it  was  all  so  simple,  so 
reverent,  so  impressive.  He  read  the  Bible  as 
one  who  was  himself  a  listener  at  the  portals  of 
a  book  where  “the  sweet  voice  sounds  and  the 
vision  dwells.  The  prayer  was  direct,  tender, 
and  far  ranging  in  its  sympathies,  as  of  one 
who  remembered  only  the  sublime  object  of  his 
office,  to  lift  men  out  of  the  mire  of  sin,  ma¬ 
terialism,  and  the  bewilderments  of  life  into  the 
higher  air  of  God.  It  besought  the  grace  of 
God  in  that  moral  self-legislation  which  each 
man  must  enact  and  execute,  if  he  is  to  verify 
faith  in  character. 

The  sermon  began  quietly,  all  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  preacher,  some  eager,  some  tender,  all  in¬ 
terested.  It  had  to  do  with  the  holiness  of  God, 


234  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

taking  as  its  text  the  vision  of  Isaiah  in  the 
temple,  and  surely  no  one  ever  forgot  the  terri¬ 
fying  vision  of  a  universe  ruled  by  an  unholy 
God,  where  men  sit  by  the  poisoned  springs  of 
life,  looking  at  polluted  flowers,  and  lifting  up 
hands  to  abominable  hills.  Man  can  endure  an 
indifferent  world.  He  does  not  lose  heart  when 
told  that  the  flowers  are  heartless,  and  would 
as  soon  adorn  a  grave  as  a  bridal  altar.  But  a 
malignant  universe  is  intolerable.  Not  only  the 
value  but  the  very  existence  of  the  soul  is  in 
jeopardy,  and  all  our  dear  human  world  is  cast 
into  shadow,  “pent  up  in  the  kingdom  of  pity 
and  death.”  It  made  the  very  soul  shudder, 
and  there  are  times  when  a  shudder  is  an  argu¬ 
ment.  Then  followed,  by  contrast,  a  picture 
of  a  lucid  and  wise  order  where  righteousness 
reigns,  where  every  mountain  is  an  altar,  and 
all  the  laws  of  life  are  God's  ten  thousand  com¬ 
mandments:  a  picture  appropriate  to  a  Greek 
temple — the  vision  of  a  man  who  sees  the  holi¬ 
ness  of  beauty,  no  less  than  the  beauty  of  holi¬ 
ness.  He  had  not  spoken  two  paragraphs  be¬ 
fore  the  spark  caught,  and  the  man,  his  theme, 
and  his  audience  were  alike  transfigured.  His 
slight  figure  seemed  to  tower  aloft  to  the  pro- 


Edward  L.  Powell  235 

portions  of  a  giant;  his  voice  vibrated  with 
moral  electricity;  his  burning  words  became  a 
torrent,  yet  all  was  held  in  bound  by  a  firm, 
directing  hand.  It  was  a  revelation  of  “truth 
through  personality/’  as  Phillips  Brooks  defined 
preaching;  what  George  MacDonald  called 
“the  rare  speech  of  a  man  to  his  fellows 
whereby  they  know  that  in  his  innermost  heart 
he  is  a  believer.” 

No  skill  of  oratory  could  have  produced  that 
sermon;  it  came  from  no  such  art.  It  came 
from  something  beyond  creeds,  something  far 
beyond  differences  of  theology  and  methods  of 
worship.  It  was  that  old,  haunting,  pathetic, 
subduing,  thrilling  voice  heard  in  all  ages  of  the 
church,  amidst  the  splendours  of  mediaeval  su¬ 
perstition,  as  in  the  fiery  appeal  of  modern  re¬ 
vivalism.  Older  than  Christianity  itself,  it  is 
more  vivid  than  music  and  more  eloquent  than 
architecture,  and  its  spell  is  as  mysterious  as 
the  wind  in  the  trees.  Such  words  have  stirred 
the  souls  of  men  in  every  age,  winning  restless, 
wayward  spirits  by  their  divine  passion,  and 
turning  bloodshed  and  rapine  into  righteous 
crusades.  Whether  spoken  on  bare  hillsides 
beneath  a  crucifix,  or  in  a  plain  white  country 


236  Some  Living  Masters  of'  the  Pulpit 

meeting  house,  such  words  can  never  lose  their 
power  while  human  nature  is  the  same.  This 
quality  of  spirituality,  so  rare  in  men  of  great 
powers,  inspires  a  kind  of  awe.  Men  bow  to  it, 
as  a  field  of  grain  bows  at  the  breath  of  the 
wind,  feel  themselves  in  the  presence  of  the- 
Unseen,  and  are  touched,  if  only  for  a  moment, 
by  a  sense  of  wonder  and  regret. 

There  is  no  need  to  say  that  I  became  a  regu¬ 
lar  attendant  at  the  old  First  Church,  much  to 
the  scandal  of  my  seminary,  where  I  was  reck¬ 
oned  a  black  sheep  in  the  flock.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  the  sermon  of  that  day  was  the  achieve¬ 
ment  of  a  lifetime ;  but  so  far  from  being  ex¬ 
ceptional,  I  learned  that  it  was  typical  of  a 
preacher  who  always  invested  the  facts  of 
Christian  faith  with  commanding  certainty  and 
practical  urgency.  As  often  as  I  heard  Dr. 
Powell,  he  always  seemed  able  instantly  to  real¬ 
ise  that  release  of  personality — what  the  old 
time  Methodists  called  “liberty” — without 
which  preaching  is  the  hardest  work  ever 
undertaken  by  mortal  man;  harder  than  mak¬ 
ing  brick  without  straw.  Tales  are  told  of  his 
failures — as  in  Richmond  one  night  when  his 
sermon  went  from  him  entirely — but  never 


Edward  L,  Powell  237 

once  have  I  heard  him  when  he  did  not  trans- 
mute  his  thoughts  into  fire  and  light  to  kindle 
and  illumine,  and  it  was  always  light  without 
smoke.  Less  scholarly  than  Broadus,  less 
rhetorical  than  Gunsaulus — two  of  his  peers 
now  fallen  asleep — he  is  more  virile  than 
Jowett,  having  none  of  that  flowery  emptiness 
which  is  the  besetting  sin  of  the  ' ‘poet- 
preacher/’  Indeed,  he  knows  nothing  of  the 
dainty,  prettified,  pietistic  gospel  so  dear  to  the 
dilettante,  and  no  doubt  that  is  why  he  appeals 
so  strongly  to  strong  men,  uniting  a  vivid  faith 
with  a  vital,  winsome,  and  enthusiastic  man¬ 
hood.  Besides,  judged  by  any  test,  Dr.  Powell 
is  one  of  the  great  orators  of  his  day,  though 
not  the  equal  of  his  uncle,  Dr.  Robert  C.  Cave 
— the  most  perfect  orator  I  have  ever  heard 
speak,  alike  in  matter  and  in  manner. 

One  has  only  to  turn  to  a  volume  of  his  ser¬ 
mons — all  too  rare,  alas — such  as  The  Vic¬ 
tory  of  Faith ,  to  know  the  quality  of  Dr. 
Powell  and  his  ministry.  They  are  the  words 
of  a  man  familiar  with  the  most  perfect  fruits 
of  culture  and  sensitive  in  high  degree  to  the 
charms  of  literary  form.  Not  merely  in  pal¬ 
pable  allusion,  but  in  the  choice  phrase,  the 


238  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

brilliant  epigram,  the  modulations  of  his  sen¬ 
tences,  and  a  most  chaste  verbal  reserve,  is  to 
be  discerned  the  master  of  speech.  As  sacred 
compositions  they  captivate  as  much  by  their 
beauty  as  by  their  forthrightness  of  insight  and 
appeal.  They  are  logical  without  any  display 
of  argument,  and  poetical  without  any  sacrifice 
of  directness  and  sincerity.  Reason  is  appealed 
to  all  along,  but  the  language  of  the  appeal 
comes  up  all  blossoming  and  fragrant  with  the 
heart.  No  one  can  fail  to  recognise  their 
catholicity  of  spirit,  their  gracious  aim,  and 
their  helpfulness  to  mind  that  recoil  from  the 
formal  and  arbitrary  in  religion.  Only  the 
commanding  vitalities  of  Christianity  and  its 
heroic  enterprise  engage  his  heart  and  inspire 
his  ministry.  He  cares  nothing  for  hair  split¬ 
ting  dogmas,  but  for  those  heavenly  truths 
which  overarch  all  creeds,  and  that  life  of  the 
spirit,  “mystical  in  its  roots  and  practical  in  its 
fruits/'  which  underlies  all  sects.  As  we  may 
read,  turning  the  pages  swiftly : 

What  is  the  preacher's  world?  Answer 
may  be  made  that  he  is  the  messenger  of  re¬ 
ligion;  as  Ralph  Connor  would  say,  he  is  the 
“sky  pilot."  But  when  we  begin  to  think  of 


Edward  L.  Powell  239 

what  religion  means — that  it  has  to  do  with  all 
life  and  therefore  with  all  things,  that  it  claims 
all  provinces  of  thought  and  activity  for  its 
territory — we  begin  to  see  that  the  preacher  as 
a  messenger  of  religion  must  be  a  many-sided 
individual,  and  must  touch  life  in  one  way  or 
another  at  almost  every  point.  The  religion  of 
Jesus  has  to  do  with  all  men  and  all  things,  and 
with  all  of  a  man — body,  soul,  and  spirit.  And 
he  who  would  proclaim  that  religion  must  be 
a  man  of  the  world  in  the  best  sense.  The  more 
he  knows  of  life,  the  more  effectively  he  can 
meet  the  requirements  of  human  need. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Should  a  preacher  enter  politics?  Not  as 
a  profession,  but  in  the  proclamation  of  right¬ 
eousness  he  must  necessarily  have  to  do  with 
the  politician  and  with  the  affairs  of  state,  even 
as  in  preaching  honesty,  purity,  love,  he  is  de¬ 
claring  principles  that  touch  every  business  and 
avocation  in  life.  The  preacher  cannot  be  side¬ 
tracked  during  the  week  or  given  to  understand 
that  his  business  belongs  to  Sunday  and  the 
church.  Every  day  is  his  day  of  opportunity; 
every  realm  is  his  field  of  service  and  duty;  all 
places,  if  they  be  entered  in  the  spirit  of  his 
Master,  furnish  him  with  a  pulpit.  To  the  ex¬ 
tent  that  preaching  becomes  a  mere  profession 
— having  to  do  with  certain  things  that  can  be 
labelled  and  classified,  the  preacher  is  provin¬ 
cial.  In  the  words  of  Wesley,  the  preacher  has 
the  world  for  his  parish.  I  do  not  know  any 


240  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

man  who  requires  a  deeper,  richer  or  fuller  life 
for  his  work  than  does  the  preacher. 

•  •  •  •  • 

The  imperialism  of  Jesus  takes  the  whole 
life  of  man  for  its  kingdom.  His  rule  within 
the  heart  of  man  must  manifest  itself  in  every 
part  of  man’s  environment.  He  cannot  govern 
the  inner  life  apart  from  the  outer.  The  whole 
frame-work  of  society  is,  therefore,  involved  in 
the  imperial  programme  of  J esus.  Poverty,  vice 
and  crime  are  inconsistent  with  the  present 
social  condition  of  our  great  cities.  The  Bible, 
through  and  through,  insists  upon  the  redemp¬ 
tion  of  the  bodies  of  men,  as  well  as  their  souls, 
and  of  the  whole  frame-work  of  human  society. 
And  so  the  regency  of  Christ  contemplates  the 
bringing  of  our  homes,  our  politics,  our  trade — 
all  the  means,  agencies  and  things  with  which 
we  are  connected — under  the  sway  of  Jesus. 

«  •  1  •  • 

Consider  the  sweeter,  nobler,  conceptions  of 
religion  which  are  ours  today.  As  life  takes 
colour  from  Christianity  it  is  ennobled.  Today 
life  is  happier,  stronger,  because  of  the  things 
we  have  left  behind.  The  church  is  journeying 
away  from  the  falsities  of  mediaevalism,  but 
carries  forward  the  sweetness  and  light  of 
Jesus.  Gone  forever  the  hideous  dogmas  that 
tortured  our  fathers.  Gone  the  dogmas  which 
confused  Satan  with  God.  The  church  is  ex¬ 
changing  the  worship  of  the  past  for  the 
heritage  of  the  present,  the  old  philosophies  for 


Edward  L.  Powell  241 

the  new  living  Christ.  We  know  more,  and 
therefore  we  love  more.  The  certificate  of 
Christianity  is  something  more  than  proved 
propositions.  It  is  a  helpful  life.  There  has 
come  a  new  conscience  which  makes  it  impos¬ 
sible  for  men  to  be  content  to  have,  while  their 
brothers  have  not.  The  physical  misery  of  the 
world’s  disinherited  is  becoming  the  spiritual 
misery  of  the  world’s  elect. 

Happy  is  the  city  which  has  sent  to  it  an 
authentic  messenger  of  great  truths;  one  of 
those  elect  spirits  to  whom  religious  cares  and 
interests  are  what  secular  cares  and  interests 
are  to  other  men.  For  thirty  years  Dr.  Powell 
has  laboured  in  Louisville,  at  the  gateway  of 
the  South — himself  a  Virginian  gentleman  of 
the  old  school — taking  not  only  a  city  but  a  com¬ 
monwealth  for  his  parish,  with  a  public  influ¬ 
ence  only  equalled  by  his  indefatigable  industry 
as  a  pastor.  Resisting  all  temptations  to  leave 
Louisville,  he  added  year  to  year,  decade  to 
decade,  with  a  continuity  and  cumulative  mo¬ 
mentum  of  influence,  giving  him  a  command 
of  the  higher  life  of  a  city  such  as  few  men 
have  ever  attained.  Through  all  the  years  he 
has  played  well  his  part  in  practical  affairs,  but 
his  life  is  not  there.  The  growth  of  the  king- 


242  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

dom  of  grace  is  his  prosperity,  the  application 
of  Christian  ideas  to  life  is  his  supreme  con¬ 
cern.  Less  a  reformer  than  a  former  of  the 
ideals  and  conscience  of  a  great  community,  all 
through  his  ministry  he  has  fearlessly  dealt 
with  public  issues,  and  always  from  a  Christian 
point  of  view.  Never  a  pulpit  scold,  never  fall¬ 
ing  into  a  pessimistic  or  denunciatory  tone — 
like  the  Queen  in  Alice  in  Wonderland ,  who 
said  there  was  jam  yesterday,  and  there  will  be 
jam  tomorrow,  but  there  is  no  jam  today — by 
the  weight  of  his  character,  by  the  wisdom  of 
his  practical  suggestion,  no  less  than  by  the 
power  of  his  passionate  eloquence,  he  has 
wrought  mightily  as  a  preacher  and  leader  of 
righteousness. 

There  was  a  time,  years  ago,  when  Kentucky 
was  torn  by  a  bitter  political  feud,  becoming 
almost  an  armed  camp,  and  the  governor-elect 
was  shot  dead  in  the  capital  city.  With 
triumphant  tact,  with  unfaltering  courage,  Dr. 
Powell  made  it  an  opportunity  for  some  of  the 
greatest  preaching  of  his  life,  rebuking  iniq¬ 
uity,  and  pleading  for  the  fundamental  morali¬ 
ties  of  private  and  public  life.  Later,  when  the 
chief  executive  of  the  state  was  a  fugitive  in 


Edward  L.  Powell  243 

an  adjoining  state,  it  was  the  pulpit  of  the  old 
First  Church  that  spoke  in  behalf  of  forgive¬ 
ness,  making  plea  equally  for  Christian  com¬ 
mon  sense  and  public  decency.  It  was  a  difficult 
— nay,  a  disgraceful — time,  but  Dr.  Powell 
dealt  with  it  in  a  manner  forever  memorable, 
revealing  the  political  function  of  religion  and 
the  strategy  of  Christian  leadership.  Fortu¬ 
nately  some  of  the  sermons,  addresses,  and 
articles  of  that  period  were  gathered  into  a 
little  book,  entitled  Savonarola ,  and  Other 
Addresses  on  Civic  Righteousness ,  in  which 
we  may  read  to  this  day  the  heartache  of  a 
patriot  and  the  testimony  of  a  prophet.  His 
ringing  call  to  “Sleeping  Citizenship/’  his  fine 
appeal  to  “Public  Men  and  Morals,”  his  thrill¬ 
ing  commentary  on  the  Battle  Hymn  of  the 
Republic — itself  a  prose-poem  of  no  mean 
order — and  his  noble  interpretation  of  “The 
Divine  Presence  in  Political  History,”  the  last 
two  evoked  by  the  Spanish-American  war — 
show  us  how  a  Christian  can  be  a  patriot,  and 
a  patriot  a  Christian.  In  the  same  way,  during 
the  Great  War,  when  his  body  was  frail  and 
his  heart  wrung  with  agony,  his  pulpit  was  an 
altar  alike  of  Christian  faith  and  patriotic  fire. 


244  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

For  some  of  us  Louisville  is  a  city  of  many 
memories,  not  only  of  days  that  come  not  back, 
but  of  great  scholars  and  dear  teachers  whose 
influence  abides,  and  of  fellowships  which  time 
cannot  destroy.  It  is  the  city  of  Henry  Wat- 
terson,  last  and  greatest  of  the  editors  of  the 
old  days  of  chivalrous  and  brilliant  journalism; 
the  golden  voice  of  the  south  and  a  national 
character.  It  is  the  city  of  Mary  Anderson, 
and  Mrs.  Wiggs  of  the  Cabbage  Patch;  of 
Madison  Cawein,  a  lyric  poet  whose  song  was 
heard  and  loved  in  England,  even  before  it 
won  its  way  at  home.  It  has  ever  been  a  city 
of  great  preachers,  like  Broadus,  Boyce,  Hemp¬ 
hill,  Hamilton,  Pickard,  Dudley,  Eaton,  and 
Rabbi  Adolph  Moses,  a  stately,  grave,  and 
noble  teacher.  Many  have  fallen  asleep  but 
Powell  remains,  the  peer  and  comrade  of  a 
goodly  company,  the  best  beloved  and — now 
that  Watterson  has  vanished — the  most  famous 
citizen  of  his  city. 


XV:  Frank  W.  Gunsaulus 


In  Memoriam 

As  I  sit  down  to  write  in  appreciation  of  the 
genius  of  Dr.  Gunsaulus  as  a  preacher,  the 
news  tells  me  that  he  has  gone  to  his  crowning. 
It  is  heavy  tidings,  and  like  thousands  of  young 
men  all  over  the  land,  to  whom  he  was  as  much 
father  as  friend,  I  am  lonely  and  forlorn.  It 
seems  impossible  to  realise  that  his  abounding 
personality,  his  incandescent  vitality,  his  pure 
and  winsome  manhood  are  now  only  a  memory, 
and  that  we  are  never  to  hear  that  golden  voice 
again  on  earth.  The  words  from  the  old 
Hebrew  centuries  flash  into  my  mind:  “My 
father!  My  father!  The  chariots  of  Israel 
and  the  horsemen  thereof!”  Alas,  my  ap¬ 
praisal  becomes  a  memorial,  and  I  can  make  no 
reader  of  mine  understand  with  me,  remem¬ 
bering  almost  twenty  years  of  unbroken  friend¬ 
ship,  how  a  gracious  presence — majestic,  mag¬ 
netic,  commanding,  enchanting — stands  yet 

vividly  before  me,  refusing  to  say  farewell. 

245 


246  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

No  doubt  there  will  be  a  biography  of  Dr. 
Gunsaulus,  but  one  cannot  be  sure  of  it.  Chi¬ 
cago  is  neglectful  of  its  great  personalities. 
Gentle,  wise,  meditative  David  Swing  had  to 
wait  for  more  than  twenty  years — until  it  was 
almost  too  late — and  even  now  there  is  no  life- 
story  of  Dr.  Harper  who,  alike  in  character 
and  achievement,  must  be  reckoned  among  the 
great  Americans.  A  biography  of  Gunsaulus, 
if  written,  will  show  us  a  man  of  many  mani¬ 
festations,  and  it  will  tell  a  story  more  thrilling 
than  any  romance.  Poet,  artist,  scholar,  edu¬ 
cator,  author,  orator,  statesman,  and,  above  all, 
a  God-endowed  preacher  whose  mysticism  was 
at  once  the  inspiration  and  illumination  of  his 
multifarious  activity — it  is  a  story  of  which 
America  ought  to  be  proud.  He  was  the  first 
citizen  of  his  city,  if  not  the  most  distinguished 
— the  incarnation  of  its  genius  and  the  proph¬ 
ecy  of  its  future.  Uniting  the  fine,  firm  quali¬ 
ties  of  the  Puritan  with  the  glow,  colour  and 
tropical  richness  of  Spain,  he  also  joined  the 
skyey  vision  of  the  poet  with  the  practical 
acumen  of  a  man  of  affairs.  Words  are  the 
daughters  of  earth,  deeds  are  the  sons  of  God, 
and  both  were  wedded  in  his  life.  Fortunately 


Frank  W.  Gunsaulus  247 

I  am  to  write  of  him  only  as  a  preacher,  but 
even  in  that  capacity  one  may  well  despair  of 
describing  a  man  whose  personal  and  intel¬ 
lectual  charm  none  could  define  and  few  resist. 

Already  the  early  eloquence  of  Gunsaulus  is 
a  legend  of  magic  and  mystery.  Only  recently 
a  man  related  how  he  sat  with  a  friend  on  the 
floor  in  the  aisle  of  Plymouth  Church,  during 
the  Columbian  Exposition,  and  heard  the  pas¬ 
tor  preach.  It  was  the  enchantment  of  pure 
genius,  an  oratory  more  vivid  than  music  in 
which  every  gesture  seemed  an  event.  He  read 
his  text  from  Exodus  4:4,  “And  the  Lord  said 
unto  Moses,  Put  forth  thine  hand,  and  take  it 
by  the  tail.  And  he  put  forth  his  hand,  and  it 
became  a  rod  in  his  hand.”  Both  men  won¬ 
dered  what  could  be  made  out  of  such  a  text, 
but  they  did  not  have  long  to  wait.  The  appe¬ 
tites  and  passions  of  a  man,  like  snakes,  coil 
and  wriggle  at  his  feet  until,  at  the  command 
of  God,  he  grasps  them  firmly.  Then  they  be¬ 
come  sceptres  of  sovereignty,  wands  of  moral 
authority — forging  passion  into  power.  But 
no  art  can  bring  back  the  magic  whereby  the 
orator  swept  all  before  him,  holding  men  as  if 
their  own  soul  spoke  to  them  in  his  words,  as  he 


248  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

described  the  fight  every  man  must  wage  with 
himself  if  he  is  to  be  a  man.  Standing  back 
from  the  pulpit,  brushing  his  long  raven  hair 
from  his  forehead,  his  eyes  kindling  with  a 
dusty  yet  piercing  light,  “orb  within  orb,”  he 
swayed  his  audience  as  the  wind  sways  the 
clouds.  There  was  nothing  artificial,  no  stud¬ 
ied  unnatural  effect,  but  the  fire  and  rapture  of 
great  eloquence  dedicated  to  the  service  of  the 
moral  life.  To  this  day,  though  twenty-seven 
years  have  come  and  gone,  my  friend  can  repeat 
not  only  the  idea  and  outline  of  that  sermon, 
but  whole  passages  of  its  music. 

As  early  as  1881 — to  go  back  for  a  time  in 
my  story — the  young  preacher  saw,  propheti¬ 
cally,  that  theology  must  be  translated  into 
sociology.  When  he  came  to  Chicago,  six 
years  later,  the  Armour  Mission  lay  ready  to 
his  hand,  and  he  laid  hold  of  it,  lavishing  upon 
it  his  love  and  labour.  Some  months  later  he 
preached  a  sermon  in  which  he  not  only  unbur¬ 
dened  the  passion  of  his  heart  for  the  young, 
but,  as  was  equally  characteristic,  outlined  a 
practical  plan  and  remedy.  At  the  conclusion 
of  the  sermon,  Philip  D.  Armour  came  forward 
with  a  direct,  searching  question: 


Frank  W.  Gunsaulus  249 

“Do  you  really  believe  in  those  ideas  you 
have  just  expressed  ?”  said  the  captain  of  in¬ 
dustry. 

“I  certainly  do,”  answered  the  preacher. 

“Well,  then,  if  you  will  give  me  five  years 
of  your  time,  I  will  furnish  the  money,”  was 
the  reply;  and  that  sermon  became  known  as 
the  two  million  dollar  sermon. 

Out  of  that  sermon  grew  Armour  Institute, 
the  history  and  growth  of  which  should  make 
more  than  one  chapter  in  the  biography  of  the 
preacher.  With  that  story  I  have  not  to  do 
now,  except  to  say  that,  while  one  does  not  see 
how  Dr.  Gunsaulus  could  have  escaped  the  op¬ 
portunity  and  burden  of  so  prodigious  an  un¬ 
dertaking — and,  manifestly,  he  did  not  desire 
to  escape — it  none  the  less  divided  the  interests 
of  his  life,  and  diverted  the  full  tide  of  his 
genius  from  the  pulpit.  Indeed,  he  was  more 
than  once  ready — and  actually  tried — to  resign 
the  pulpit  altogether  and  devote  himself  en¬ 
tirely  to  education,  as  he  finally  did  two  years 
ago.  Yet  there  are  fifty  men  who  can  conduct 
and  develop  a  technical  institute,  for  every  one 
whom  God  has  endowed  with  the  rare  and 
precious  genius  of  a  great  preacher.  A  giant 


250  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

in  strength,  of  fabulous  mental  and  spiritual 
resource,  he  did  the  work  of  many  men,  adding 
labour  to  labour — the  institute  and  the  church 
being  only  two  items  in  an  incredible  number 
of  activities — though  I  have  often  wondered  if 
it  had  not  been  better  had  he  obeyed  the  ex¬ 
ample  of  St.  Paul,  “this  one  thing  I  do,”  in 
single-hearted  devotion. 

At  any  rate,  Dr.  Gunsaulus  made  his  de¬ 
cision,  did  his  work— and  paid  the  price !  The 
call  of  a  great  growing  city,  and  the  pathos  of 
its  spiritual  need,  lured  him  on.  As  if  his 
church  and  the  institute  were  not  enough,  he 
began  a  great  downtown  Sunday  evening 
service  in  Central  Music  Hall,  which  was 
packed  to  the  doors.  At  length  the  inevitable 
happened.  The  man  of  iron  broke.  Physical 
collapse — complete  and  shattering — befell  him 
in  1897,  and  for  six  months  he  lay  motionless 
on  a  bed  of  agony.  No  sermons  came  from  the 
preacher  then,  no  books;  only  a  poem.  That 
poem  revealed  his  intrepid  and  unconquerable 
spirit : 

I  care  not  that  the  furnace  fire  of  pain 

Laps  round  and  round  my  life  and  burns 
alway ; 


Frank  W.  Gunsaulus  251 

I  only  care  to  know  that  not  in  vain 

The  fierce  heats  touch  me  throughout  night 
and  day. 

When  he  returned  to  Plymouth  pulpit,  a  quiv¬ 
ering  sigh,  not  unmixed  with  horror,  ran 
through  the  congregation.  A  terrible  thing 
had  happened.  Valiantly  he  had  wrestled  with 
the  Angel  of  Pain  in  the  twilight,  and  it  had 
left  him  lame  and  misshapen  of  frame.  He  had 
been  tall,  agile,  handsome  as  a  Greek  god,  and 
now  he  was  doomed  to  go  limping  to  the  end. 
One  leg  behaved  like  a  dead  thing.  Later, 
when  Lorenz  of  Vienna  tried  with  his  deft 
fingers  to  untie  the  knot,  he  said  with  grim 
Teutonic  humour,  “Cheer  up!  There  is  no  hope 
for  you.”  He  did  cheer  up.  For,  in  the  fiery 
furnace  of  pain  Another  had  walked  with  him 
betimes.  New  windows  of  insight  had  been 
opened,  new  depths  of  experience  fathomed, 
and  new  and  haunting  stops  of  music  had  been 
mastered ! 

It  was  on  Sunday,  November  30,  1902, 
that  I  first  heard  Gunsaulus  preach,  and  the 
wonder  of  that  day  is  still  vivid  in  my  heart. 
Such  a  voice  cannot  be  made  in  one  generation ! 
Today  its  tones  come  back  to  me  from  behind 


252  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

the  hills,  now  soft  as  a  flute,  now  melodious  as 
an  orchestra,  with  never  a  note  to  jar.  It  was 
as  variable  as  the  moods  of  the  man,  as  just  as 
his  character,  as  sweet  as  his  spirit.  It  was 
the  Sunday  after  the  death  of  Joseph  Parker, 
and  the  sermon  was  a  vision  of  the  Christian 
ministry  as  illustrated  in  the  life  of  the  first 
minister  of  the  City  Temple.  They  had  been 
friends — the  preacher  and  his  subject — and 
some  allowance  had  to  be  made  for  the  beauti¬ 
ful  bias  of  friendship  in  his  estimate  of  Parker. 
It  was  an  extraordinary  portrayal,  as  touch 
after  touch  was  added  to  the  picture,  until  at 
last  Joseph  Parker  seemed  to  live  again  in  the 
pulpit  of  Central  Church.  As  I  had  never  seen 
Parker,  it  was  like  a  revelation  to  me,  albeit 
I  could  not  follow  him  when  at  times  he  seemed 
to  place  him  above  Beecher.  From  the  notes 
of  that  day  I  transcribe  a  passage,  if  only  be¬ 
cause  the  sermon  was  a  revelation  equally  of 
the  subject  and  of  the  preacher,  and  because  it 
will  help  to  make  clear  what,  to  me,  at  least, 
was  the  greatest  quality  of  Dr.  Gunsaulus  as  a 
preacher.  Thus : 

It  is  an  awful  risk  God  takes  in  creating  a 
David  or  a  Robert  Burns.  But  they  justify  it, 


Frank  W.  Gunsaulus  253 

for  they  give  a  double  significance  to  nature 
and  life.  Such  men  recreate  the  external  world 
and  its  events  into  an  internal  order  made 
richer  by  the  language  they  learn.  David, 
Burns,  Augustine,  with  varying  colours  portray 
to  us  the  cost  and  the  peril  of  letting  loose  a 
great  soul  on  the  earth.  Joseph  Parker,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  made  gigantic  mistakes ;  but  also, 
by  the  grace  of  God,  he  avoided  many  pitfalls 
which  such  a  genius  digs  for  a  man.  I  regard 
him  as  a  wonderfully  endowed  and  restrained 
man.  He  could  never  have  been  a  little  sinner ; 
he  was  not  a  little  saint.  The  stone-mason’s 
boy  has  not  opened  unto  us  the  Scriptures,  and 
Gladstone  and  the  kitchen-maid,  Sir  Henry 
Irving  and  the  bootblack,  have  not  listened  to 
be  pleased  for  so  many  years,  without  demon¬ 
strating  that  the  mark  of  such  a  nature  is  ca¬ 
pacity  for  pain. 

A  great  man  and  a  great  theme — Joseph 
Parker  with  the  Scriptures  of  God  and  man — 
how  marvellously  they  re-enforce  and  illustrate 
each  other!  He  had  so  meditated  upon  the 
Scriptures  and  lived  with  kings,  prophets, 
psalmists  and  captain  of  the  Bible  that  he  be¬ 
came  a  part  of  them  and  they  of  him.  When 
he  preached  upon  David,  it  was  no  small  man 
attempting  to  measure  the  girth  of  the  poet- 
king.  Parker  was  David  at  the  time.  One 
instant  it  was  the  boy  looking  into  the  heights 
of  manhood  as  he  talked  with  Samuel ;  the  next, 
it  was  the  man  looking  down  from  physical 


254  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

safety  and  moral  insecurity  from  his  palace 
into  the  defenseless  home  of  Uriah.  When  he 
preached  on  Isaiah,  one  saw  how  unobstruct- 
edly  the  prophet-statesman  of  Israel  moved  in 
the  City  Temple  pulpit.  Exegesis  like  this  is  a 
matter  of  complete  personality ;  it  is  not  a  mat¬ 
ter  of  learning  Greek  or  skill  in  analysis.  The 
legend  of  his  eloquence  will  be  told  by  many 
generations ! 

Here  is  an  example  of  the  style  of  Dr.  Gun- 
saulus — at  times  so  curiously  involved  and  lack¬ 
ing  in  lucidity,  and  often  so  luxuriant  as  to 
bewilder — but  the  significant  thing  is  that  he 
seized  upon  that  in  Joseph  Parker  most  akin  to 
himself,  his  power  of  dramatic  characterisa¬ 
tion.  In  this  art  Gunsaulus  himself  was  at  his 
best,  and  in  the  use  he  made  of  it  we  have  had 
no  one  like  him  in  America;  no  one  near  him. 
Such  an  art — depending  so  much  upon  gesture, 
facial  expression,  and  the  dramatic  personality 
of  the  preacher — loses  three-fourths  of  its  spell 
and  wonder  on  the  printed  page.  No  printed 
sermon  by  Dr.  Gunsaulus  shows  us  more  than 
half  the  man.  Alas,  much  the  same  is  true  of 
every  great  preacher — his  art  dies  with  him, 
becoming  a  vacancy  that  is  vacated  with  the 
passing  of  the  generation  to  whom  he  minis- 


Frank  W.  Gunsaulus  255 

tered — but  it  is  doubly  so  with  a  preacher  like 
Gunsaulus.  If  only  by  some  art  we  could  re¬ 
capture  and  perpetuate  the  magic  spell  of  his 
genius,  that  as  little  as  possible  may  be  lost  of 
the  precious  treasure  of  mankind ! 

Howbeit,  all  that  one  can  do  in  such  a  sketch 
as  this  is  to  indicate,  in  some  measure,  not  what 
Dr.  Gunsaulus  had  in  common  with  other 
preachers,  but  the  gift  which  was  uniquely  and 
supremely  own.  And  that,  as  I  have  said, 
was  his  genius  for  dramatic  characterisation. 
Two  of  his  sermons  may  serve  as  examples, 
two  of  the  greatest  sermons  I  have  ever  heard, 
and  I  doubt  if  anyone  else  could  have  preached 
either  one  of  them.  One  dealt  with  the  Tempta¬ 
tion  of  Jesus,  and  the  vision  of  the  Master, 
worn,  weary,  weak  from  hunger  and  long  vigil, 
standing — a  lone  and  quivering  soul — face  to 
face  with  the  subtle  cunning  of  ultimate  Evil, 
feeling  its  fearful  fascination,  can  never  be  for¬ 
gotten  !  The  other  sermon — it  has  never  been 
printed,  I  believe — might  have  been  entitled, 
“Jesus  at  the  Feet  of  his  Disciples/5  and  had  to 
do  with  the  evening  in  the  Upper  Room  when 
the  Master  washed  the  feet  of  his  Apostles. 
“And  He  took  a  towel/5  was  the  text.  “He 


256  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

might  have  taken  a  star !”  said  the  preacher,  the 
better  to  show  the  august  humility  of  the  Serv¬ 
ant  in  the  House.  Then  he  became  an  artist, 
reproducing  not  only  the  scene,  but  the  atmos¬ 
phere  of  the  farewell  meal.  All  at  once  he 
began  to  re-enact  the  scene,  from  the  point  of 
view  of  each  disciple,  as  the  Master  approached 
him  with  basin  and  towel.  Only  a  man  of 
painter-like  sympathy  and  dramatic  insight 
could  have  done  it.  A  single  false  note  would 
have  ruined  the  scene,  but  there  was  no  false 
note.  Each  disciple  stood  out  distinctly — -his 
character,  his  personality,  his  very  soul — as  if, 
by  some  magic,  the  man  had  been  there  in  the 
pulpit.  The  preacher  forgot  himself — the  con¬ 
gregation  forgot  the  preacher — all  were  pres¬ 
ent  again  in  the  Upper  Room  long  ago.  One 
could  have  taken  a  photograph  of  Simon  Peter, 
it  was  so  real,  so  vivid.  It  was  a  solemn,  almost 
terrifying  moment  when  he  came  to  Judas; 
strong  men  sobbed  like  children,  torn  equally 
between  the  horror  of  evil  obsession  and  the 
awful  mercy  of  the  Master.  Never  again  on 
this  earth  do  I  expect  to  hear  such  a  sermon, 
now  that  the  great  artist-preacher  has  van¬ 
ished  ! 


Frank  W.  Gunsaulus  257 

Memories  crowd  upon  me,  among  them  a 
radiant  Easter  service  in  the  Auditorium  Thea¬ 
ter,  every  seat  of  which  was  filled  with  an 
eager,  expectant  humanity.  I  entered  the  top 
gallery  just  as  the  vast  congregation  bowed, 
like  a  field  of  grain  touched  by  a  soft  wind,  and 
the  prayer  began  with  these  words:  uO  God, 
in  the  far  distances  of  Thy  fatherhood  we  were 
conceived  in  love;  from  Thy  fatherhood  we 
have  come  we  do  not  know  how  far.”  What 
a  sentence!  I  had  journeyed  two  hundred 
miles  to  the  service,  and  that  sentence  was 
worth  the  journey.  After  a  hymn,  the  words 
of  which  he  himself  had  written,  the  preacher 
began  his  sermon,  taking  for  his  text  the 
words:  “If  a  man  die  shall  he  live  again?”— 
words  that  come  wailing  across  perplexed  and 
anxious  ages,  pathetic,  heroic,  awful!  For  an 
hour  the  preacher  spoke  out  of  a  deep  heart  and 
a  clear  mind,  using  every  kind  argument, 
imagery  and  appeal, — hints,  flashing  phrases, 
glowing  apostrophes,  intricate  facts  of  science, 
and  radiant  insights  that  just  stopped  short  of 
rhapsody.  Men  listened  believing,  or  wanting 
to  believe,  and  the  scene  comes  back  to  me  to¬ 
day,  now  that  the  preacher  has  passed  into  the 


258  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

life  of  which  he  spoke  with  passionate  and  per¬ 
suasive  eloquence.  These  words  from  the  clos¬ 
ing  prayer  echo  in  my  heart:  “O  Lord,  may  we 
realise  that  Thou  hast  done  Thy  divinest  for 
man  in  compelling  him  to  cut  the  path  and 
fathom  the  mystery  of  pain.”  1 

There  is  no  need  to  say  that  Dr.  Gunsaulus 
was  the  orator,  not  the  theologian,  nor  yet  the 
man  of  letters — a  man  who  ruled  by  his  grace 
and  charm  of  spirit,  rather  than  by  his  origi¬ 
nality  and  potency  of  thought— though  his 
scholarship  was  thorough,  and  his  books  are 
rewarding,  especially  his  historical  novel,  The 
Monk  and  the  Knight.  He  was  indeed  almost 
the  last  of  the  old  Gladstonian  school  of  the 
elaborate  and  rounded  period,  using  the  full- 

1  Happily  we  now  have  a  volume  of  The  Pulpit  Prayers  of 
Dr.  Gunsaulus,  edited  by  his  daughter,  Helen,  and  dedicated 
to  the  great  preacher  “who,  a  year  ago  this  Easter-time,  en¬ 
tered  completely  into  the  life  eternal  which  he  illumined  for 
his  fellowmen  during  all  the  years  of  his  ministry.”  The 
prayers,  taken  down  verbatim  during  the  services  of  Central 
Church,  cover  the  period  between  1913  and  1918,  and  are 
grouped  as  invocations,  petitions,  prayers  in  war-time,  and  on 
special  occasions.  The  little  book  brings  back  the  echo  of  a 
voice  now  hushed  on  earth,  but  which  still  lives  in  the  hearts 
of  a  vast  company  to  whom  it  spoke,  as  from  the  sky,  words 
of  comfort  and  command.  Some  of  us  can  almost  see  the 
characteristic  gesture — the  towering  figure,  the  noble  head,  the 
arms  outstretched  to  embrace — as  if  the  preacher  sought  to 
gather  his  congregation  to  his  heart,  and  on  the  wings  of  his 
prayer  lift  them  into  the  higher  air  of  God,  and  detain  them 
there  for  cleansing  and  consecration. 


Frank  W.  Gunsaulus  259 

throated  Latin  family  of  words.  In  early  days 
his  style — warm,  exuberant,  chromatic — often 
had  all  the  lurid  tropic  colouring  of  Hugo,  re¬ 
splendent  and  sometimes  grandiose ;  but  in  later 
years  it  had  softened  and  chastened  its  hues. 
More  often,  toward  the  end,  he  struck  a  calmer 
key  in  which,  with  hardly  a  movement  of  the 
body,  with  the  slightest  employ  of  any  dra¬ 
matic  suggestion,  he  held  his  hearers  by  the 
depth  of  his  insight,  the  richness  of  his  expe¬ 
rience  of  things  immortal,  and  the  nameless 
grace  of  his  spirit.  Some  of  us  thought  his 
lecture  on  “The  Heroism  of  Scholarship’'  far 
more  admirable  than  his  “Gladstone”  or  his 
“Savonarola.”  He  was  not  always  triumphant, 
and  if  his  successes  were  noble  and  moving,  his 
failures  were  equally  gorgeous — like  that  awful 
day  in  the  City  Temple  when  he  took  for  his 
theme  the  death  of  Florence  Nightingale,  and 
the  sermon  simply  did  not  come  off.  Even  at 
his  worst  he  was  never  commonplace,  never 
cheap,  and  the  contagious  quality  of  his  per¬ 
sonality — by  its  generosity,  its  amplitude,  its 
winsomeness— redeemed  many  an  ill-starred 
effort. 

Alas,  how  inadequate  is  my  analysis  and  esti- 


260  Some  Living  Masters  of  the  Pulpit 

mate  of  a  man  so  radiant  and  radiating,  so 
brotherly  withal  and  lovable;  the  Friar  Gonsol 
of  Eugene  Field’s  rare  and  quizzical  book,  The 
Temptation  of  Friar  Gonsol.  To  know  him 
was  to  become,  if  not  actually  generous,  like 
him,  at  least  indisposed — partly  indeed  unable 
— to  judge  him  calmly,  much  less  critically.  He 
was  enchanting  in  the  warmth  of  his  fellow¬ 
ship,  his  boyish  joy  in  life,  the  vividness  of  his 
enthusiasm,  and  the  unfeigned  simplicity  of  his 
modesty.  Never  will  his  young  brethren  forget 
his  gay  heart,  his  glittering  mind,  his  gener¬ 
osity  of  appreciation,  his  self-giving  so  open- 
hearted  and  open-handed,  his  verve,  dash  and 
gentleness — what  times  we  talked  the  hours 
away.  He  had  a  talent  for  living  and  a  genius 
for  friendship.  But  the  deepest  thing  in  him 
— the  still  centre  of  his  busy,  fruitful  life — was 
his  poet-soul,  and  its  experience  of  God  in 
Christ.  Before  me  lie  letters  telling,  man  to 
man,  his  faith  in  Jesus  in  words  as  simple  as 
the  prayer  of  a  child — letters  so  lovely  that  they 
make  the  heart  ache.  Anyone  who  knew  him, 
and  the  rising  and  falling  moods  out  of  which 
his  poems  were  born,  can  trace  his  real  biog¬ 
raphy  in  his  songs.  They  disclose  a  tender, 


Frank  W.  Gunsaulus  261 

wistful,  beauty-loving  spirit,  sensitive  to  all  Di¬ 
vine  persuasions,  uniting  a  large  and  living  cul¬ 
ture  with  a  heroic  faith;  a  faith  not  held  with¬ 
out  struggle  in  a  world  pent  up  in  “the  king¬ 
doms  of  pity  and  death/'  where  life  is  woven 
of  beauty,  mystery,  and  sorrow.  His  own 
words  return  to  tell  us  whither  he  has  gone : 

From  moonlight,  night  and  wonder, 

He  stepped  to  sunlight  yonder — 

The  poet’s  paradise. 

His  lyre  with  string  unbroken, 

Will  ring  like  music  spoken, 

And  tremble  toward  God’s  day. 


THE  END 


Princeton 


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leological  Seminary  Libraries 


012  01 


73  82 


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Date  Due 


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AG  3 -'Si 


NEWTON  B  -  Mod.Pr. 

Some  living  masters 
of  the  pulpit. 


